Mea Culpa
by JadziaCee
Summary: Blake & Jayden face-down Nathaniel Williams. What happens if Blake isn't wearing "plot armor"? No longer a one-shot, this story is multi-chaptered & explores an AU of the "Nathaniel" chapter and events post-chapter. "Blayden" to come in future chapters.
1. Damnant quod non intellegunt

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)

**A/N** - This story contains spoilers for small parts of the game leading up to and including the Nathaniel chapter. While playing this chapter of the game, I was so fearful the whole time that Blake was going to get shot. As much of a jerk as he was, I realized that I couldn't let my partner be shot (what a mess of paperwork that would be!), so with the situation getting more and more tense and the music coming to a crescendo, I pulled the trigger and shot Nathaniel. Little did I know at the time, that Blake was never in any danger and can never be shot in this chapter.

My story explores what could have happened if Blake wasn't wearing "plot-armour" and he could be shot.

This was supposed to be a one-shot, but has grown just slightly big enough for a couple of chapters. I hope you all enjoy. I love receiving feedback - praise or critical. But it's been over 2 years since I last wrote a fan fiction, so be gentle. :)

Thanks to all the other great Heavy Rain (and especially Blayden) fan fic authors out there who have inspired me to pick up writing again. (heart massacre, Of Wolves And Dogs, Telemachus Prime, netherlady, lankypanky, CarEKaos and HazardousRaptor)

Rated M for swearing, violence, blood, and homo-erotic themes.

* * *

**Wednesday, October 5th, 2011**

**10:32am**

The dark-gray late-model Chevy Caprice sat with its tires brushing the curb, parked in front of a three-story walk-up. Soggy pieces of cardboard and other litter blew around on the sidewalk in front of the building, as one lone soul braved the elements, holding an unfolded newspaper over her head as she rushed by the car, avoiding puddles of rain flooding over the sidewalk.

The pitter-patter of raindrops thudded on the roof and hood of the car, sounding like gunfire on a tin roof. "Crazy bitch," said police Lt. Carter Blake, sneering at the slight woman dressed in a Lycra miniskirt and halter-top.

FBI agent Norman Jayden followed Carter's gaze and watched as the woman let out a gasp when a vehicle quickly rounded the corner, its wheels squealing through a large dirty puddle of water washing across the road where leaves had clogged the storm drain. The filthy water sprayed up over the woman, leaving bits of mud and shredded leaves over her hair, face and the little excuse for clothing she was wearing. "Heh," Carter let out a snort, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Damn hooker. I outta bring her in."

"You dun' know she's a prostitute," said Norman, coming to the woman's defence. He had a feeling it didn't matter if the woman was or wasn't a lady of the evening. Blake was still high on a testosterone rush after his outburst earlier that morning at the police station, and he was clearly looking for someone or something to take his anger out on.

Carter whipped his head around to turn and look at Norman. "What the hell do you care Jayden?" he snarled, every word dripping with poisonous venom. "You wanna come to the rescue of every little wounded puppy dog in this town?"

Norman chose not to respond, thinking that anything he may have to say would only provoke Carter even more. The Lieutenant had seemed like a reasonable man when Norman had met him at the crime scene the day before. Even going so far as to remind Norman they were on the same team and offering to discuss the case later that day back at the office. Blake might have seemed a little on edge, but nothing that Norman couldn't write off to being called to a muddy wasteland early in the morning in the pouring rain. The unceasing rain was enough to put anyone on edge.

Norman had prepared a briefing the next morning for Captain Perry, Detective Ash and Blake, and that's when all hell had broken loose. Just doing his job, Norman had explained his geo-profiling analysis of the Origami Killer and had received nothing but sarcasm and rebuke from Blake. The Lieutenant had clearly been trying Jayden's patience, and Norman, wondering who had shit in Blake's wheaties that morning, did his best to remain calm and just present the facts. But when Blake took a low blow, grasping at insults about Norman's education and experience, he had finally had enough, and fought back with his own brand of venom, accusing Blake of irresponsible police work – not being able to solve the case in two years and allowing eight innocent children to be murdered. An overturned chair and multiple expletives on Blake's part, led to Perry breaking up the vitriol filled argument that had been inches away breaking out into fisticuffs.

Barely having enough time to walk away and cool down, the two men found themselves, less than an hour later, pulling up in the detective's unmarked car to the residence of their first suspect.

Norman could swear he still smelled the testosterone-fuelled pheromones leaking out of Blake's pores. "What, ya got nothing to say Norman?" Blake snarled as Jayden did his best to ignore the brutish behaviour of the older man. "You were all full of fancy words back at the precinct!" he spat out, literally, as a drop of his saliva flew off one of his gleaming incisors and landed on Norman's clean shaven jaw line.

Reaching up to his face, Jayden wiped the spit off his cheek and rubbed the back of his hand clean on his pant leg. He closed his eyes for a brief second and inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath and calming his thoughts. His other hand grasped inside his coat pocket, his fingers searching for and then curling around the cold, glass tube inside. Just knowing the sweet, powdery substance was tucked away, close at hand, accessible at any moment, was enough to calm him down. His hand tremors had begun yesterday morning when he arrived at the crime scene, but wanting to have a clear head while investigating he had pocketed the Tripto and refused to take any. He had another bad breakdown, luckily behind the closed doors of the sorry excuse for an office he was given at the police station, but was able to make it to the bathroom in time to splash water on his face and come to his senses. He knew the excessive use of the ARI on this case was only going to make matters worse, but he had to try to pull himself together. _This is the most important case I've ever been assigned and I'm not going to fuck it up by being stoned out of my mind on Tripto._

It was like walking down the edge of a finely honed knife. He was always teetering on the brink… but never had he fallen off. It was a constant balancing act - knowing when to stop using the ARI before the device started to cook his brains from the inside out, and knowing when he had snorted enough of the magic powder to take the edge off the symptoms of ARI overuse. He was caught racing on a never-ending hamster wheel. Using ARI too much caused him serious migraines, blinding hallucinations and bleeding from the eyes and nose. Taking Tripto helped to relieve the ARI symptoms, but often times would leave him dulled and senseless, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a fetal position and sleep for ten hours straight. And then he discovered, much too late to do any good, that taking too much Tripto led to another addiction/withdrawal cycle – hand tremors, racing heartbeat and more nose bleeds. Norman was a junkie disguised in the body of an FBI Agent. It was only due to his highly evolved self-awareness and intelligence that he had been able to maintain some semblance of a normal lifestyle, at least to any external observer_. I can't fool myself. Not anymore_. He had to solve this case, and fast, because it was likely going to be his last one for a while.

Inhaling again, Norman turned to look at Blake. The muggy interior of the car muddled with the dampness of the rain on their clothes, and heightened the slight claustrophobic feeling that came over Norman. A scent filled Norman's lungs as he breathed in deeply again. Nope, it wasn't testosterone he was smelling, but close enough, it was Carter's cologne. The sweet, cloying scent make Norman's stomach do a flip-flop. He recognized the scent, Tom Ford's Italian Cypress, strong earthy undertones, uniquely masculine, very studio 54. Norman smirked just slightly, it matched Carter's porn-star goatee perfectly. _Who the hell is he trying to impress anyway?_

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and focus back on the task at hand, Norman released the latch and opened the passenger side door. "Come on," he said, gesturing to the building they were parked in front of. "We've got a job to do." The profiler unfolded his long, lean body from the seat, stretching out his legs and straightening his coat as he got out of the car and stood up on the sidewalk.

Blake, in turn, exited the drivers' side of the vehicle, slamming his door so hard the windows rattled. "What a fucking waste of time," he cursed, walking around the car to join Norman on the sidewalk. He looked up at the rain, still falling, although the torrent had now slowed to a slight drizzle. "And this fucking rain," Carter swore. "Will it ever fucking end?" Shaking his head, he gave a loud snort, hocking up a glob of mucus and phlegm and spat it out onto the pavement, and started walking toward the front door of the building.

Norman, unimpressed with the shallow grasp Blake had on the English language, twisted his face up in disgust, just barely missing stepping in Carter's loogie as he followed after the detective.

Carter stopped and used one of his gloved hands to wipe a circle in the dirty residue of one of the front windows. He attempted to peer inside, but could see nothing through the multiple spider web-like cracks tracing passages through the thick, foggy glass. He stepped back from the window and looked up and down the street. The crumbling red brick buildings, dank alleyways and boarded up broken windows spoke volumes about the kind of tenants that likely lived in this area of town.

Norman continued past Blake, walking up the three concrete steps leading up to the front door. Layers of dark blue peeling paint were flaking off revealing about ten more multi-coloured layers underneath. He took note of the six rusted metal mailboxes hanging haphazardly next to the front door. The name "Williams" was typed with a label maker on a cheap sticker and clung precariously to mailbox number four. "Looks like we got the right address," Norman called back to Blake. "Nathaniel Williams, apartment number four. Prob'ly the second floor."

Blake stepped up and opened the door. Security was clearly not the landlord's top priority as there was no buzzer system at the front entrance. He held the door open and gestured with a gloved hand into the foyer, "Ladies first," he sneered at Norman, his blue eyes flashing. Norman met his stare, aware of the dark storm that appeared to brewing just underneath the surface of the Lieutenant's gaze.

Norman slipped inside the doorway, careful not to brush up against Carter. He didn't want to give the man anything else to be angry about. He realized that working with Carter was like trying to handle a ticking time bomb. He never knew when or what might set it off. He started to walk up the stairs, the dirty brown carpet threadbare underneath his shoes. Norman felt a certain sense of vulnerability as he led the way. A fuming heat and anger seemed to seethe from Carter, his dark shoes sounding heavy on the hollow steps. Even though Norman had at least two inches of height on Blake, he could feel the older cop crowding him on the steps, bringing up the rear. Norman could almost feel Blake's breath hot on the back of his neck, but he was sure it was just his imagination. At least that's what he kept telling himself, as the thought of the detective's mouth anywhere near his face made him quiver down to the base of his scrotum.

When they got to the top of the second landing, Norman spotted the number four tacked on an apartment door. Carter leaned against the wall, his hands on his hips, while Norman steeled himself and knocked on the solid wooden door. There was no answer. Norman waited a few beats and then turned and looked at Carter. The man had a presence about him that made tingles go down the back of Norman's spine. With his dark overcoat, black gloves and that immaculately groomed dark goatee, Blake was like a harbinger of doom. He pursed his lips and returned Norman's stare, looking exasperated. _At least he's calmed down a bit, he was ready to bite my head off earlier. _

Norman turned back to the door, squinting at the number to make sure they had the correct apartment. He looked back at Blake again, who was studying his shoes, and then turned and knocked on the door once more. Blake folded his arms across his chest, his nostrils flaring in a seemingly quiet rage. "No answer, we wasted our time coming here," said Norman, turning away from the apartment door. He took a step back and put his hands on his hips, his brown thigh-length leather coat bunching up at the pockets.

"Maybe we should have a little look inside anyway," said Blake, nodding his head toward the apartment.

"There's nobody home," Norman gestured toward the closed door. _What the heck is Blake suggesting?_

Carter slowly pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and unfolded his arms. He walked up to the door, the dim light filtering in through the dirty windows, casting his shadow large against the wall. With one swift movement, before Norman could even react, Blake kicked his leg up and with a massive display of power, he busted the door wide open, kicking it right off the hinges. _Christ, the man has the strength of an ox! _Norman stepped back instinctively, silently hoping to never be on the receiving end of that aggression.

"There is now," said Carter, walking into the now open apartment.

"I'm not sure that's entirely legal," said Norman, still standing in the hallway, not wanting to enter the apartment unlawfully. Blake's lack of protocol left Norman feeling quite uncomfortable. First he had let his men tramp all over the crime scene yesterday morning, stomping any evidence right into the ground, and now here he was breaking down apartment doors without a warrant. _This guy is a psychopath!_

Blake stuck his head out of the doorway and looked at Norman. "Call the cops," he said calmly and returned back inside the apartment.

_His sense of irony is disturbing_. Norman looked down the stairwell to make sure no one had witnessed the illegal entry and then stepped inside the apartment.

The sight that befell Norman's eyes was another disturbing matter. As if the tiny three-room apartment wasn't small enough - crosses, crucifixes and religious icons of all manner hung from every inch of wall and ceiling space. Their presence created a crowded, claustrophobic feeling as Norman stood inside the foyer. Blake had already begun to walk around the living room area. "Looks like Nathaniel Williams is a pretty religious guy," said Norman, stating the obvious_._

"He's a god-fearing idiot, waiting for the end of the world," shared Blake. "We questioned him a few months back because he was causing a disturbance in the park." Carter paced back and forth as he told the story, while Norman slipped on his ARI glove and sunglasses he had carefully been hiding inside his jacket pocket. He began to investigate the apartment, letting Carter continue with his tale. "He was ranting and raving – said he heard voices. Got this idea in his sick little head that I was the Anti-Christ and that I'd come to Earth to persecute him. Real twisted."

Norman snorted to himself. _With his dark beard and antagonistic attitude, Blake very well could be the spawn of Satan._ _Maybe Nathaniel isn't so crazy after all._

Norman held his gloved hand over a simple wooden bench that had a bible, rosary and glass of milk laid out on it. The glasses returned detailed information about Nathaniel Williams - his date of birth, how long he had been a resident of the city, his mother's and father's names, birth dates and addresses. Nathaniel had been detained twice by the police but released both times with no convictions due to lack of evidence. _Likely Carter's overzealous thirst for vengeance towards the man who called him the Anti-Christ, but nothing linking Nathaniel to the Origami Killer._

He scanned the religious artifacts hanging on the walls and ceiling. "ARI Comment: All the signs of a mystical obsessive neurosis, compounded by a persecution complex."

Norman followed Carter into the bedroom. More rosaries and bibles were strewn about, and dozens of lit candles flickered in the musty room. Flicking his gloved hand over the walls, he noticed scrawling writing. "ARI Comment: The walls are covered with writing. Quotations from the bible." said Norman. Continuing to follow Carter deeper into the apartment, Norman watched as the detective hauled back and booted in the bathroom door. _Unnecessary use of force. This guy has a serious anger management problem_.

Carter stuck his head briefly inside the room and then continued on down the hallway towards the kitchen, his long dark overcoat swinging against his legs, adding bulk to his powerful form. Norman entered the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, sweeping his hand casually over the bottles of pills inside. A scrolling list of Dr's names, medications and ailments popped up on his glasses. _Nathaniel is no stranger to self-medication. Paranoid delusion is likely a contributor to his psychotic public outbursts._

More medicine bottles littered the top of the fridge and countertops as Norman made his way into the kitchen, where Carter was staring out the window. "ARI Comment: The guy is taking a break from reality. Holed up here in this crazy apartment."

Norman walked back out into the living room and stood staring at the walls of crucifixes, resting his chin on his hand and thinking. _You don't have to be a profiler to see he's not a killer. We're wasting our time here. _Deep in thought, Norman didn't hear or see the slight man make his way up the staircase and inside the apartment. Nathaniel stopped in shock when he saw Norman inside his home and dropped the paper bag to the floor that he had been carrying. He began to take a few quiet steps toward Norman, but Blake came out of the kitchen at that precise moment.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, a sneer of anger crossing his face. "Good timing Nathaniel," said Carter. Nathaniel whipped around at the sound of Blake's voice. "Just the man we're looking for."

Nathaniel began to back away from Blake, moving into the living room, closer to Norman, "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us…." Norman pulled his ARI glasses off and tucked them inside his shirt pocket. He stood and watched in awe at the sudden fear that had come over the man as soon as Blake began to speak to him.

"I'm agent Nahmen Jayden. FBI," said Norman softly to the man. "I'd like to ask you a few questions." Nathaniel spun around to face Norman, and held his hands together anxiously in front of him. The man was clearly agitated and frightened, and Norman didn't want to spook him any further. "As God is my witness, I haven't done anything," Nathaniel stated. "I'm innocent."

"Relax," said Norman, attempting to calm the man down. "Nobody's accusing you of anythin'. We just want to talk." Norman stepped closer to the man, while Carter walked his way around to the other side of the room.

"Where do you work Nathaniel – do you have a job?" asked the profiler.

"My sole occupation is praying to the all-merciful Lord for the salvation of humanity," explained Nathaniel, as he nervously clenched his hands into fists at his side.

"Nathaniel, do you remember where you were last Tuesday at 4:30pm?" asked Norman.

"Here, I was here. I was praying all day,"

"Was there anybody with you?"

"No, no I was alone."

Norman began to pace the room, while Carter took a seat on the wooden bench. "Why all the crucifixes? Are you afraid of something?" Norman asked.

"The hour is nigh and the wrath of God shall strike men down!" explained the anxious man, grasping one hand timidly in the other. "I'm preparing for the end of the world."

"What about the voices Nathaniel?" Carter piped up all of a sudden. "Do you still hear the voices?" Blake got up off the bench and walked over to Nathaniel, slowly circling him, using all of his massive bulk to intimidate the uneasy man. "We know who talks to you, don't we Nathaniel? We both know who talks to you."

"Don't… speak….that name!" Nathaniel stammered.

Norman felt a little uneasy at this new twist in their questioning but he figured Blake had his own methods. _Better just stand down and leave Blake to it_.

"What does he say to you Nathaniel?" Blake continued.

Norman stood back and watched as Carter continued to interrogate the man. This was unorthodox, but Carter wasn't doing anything unlawful so Norman let him carryon.

Nathaniel stood in the middle of the room, sheepishly looking down at the floor, shaking his head. "I can't talk about it. You mustn't talk about it."

_What's Blake looking for? Why is he pushing him over the edge? _Blake continued to circle the frightened man. "He orders you to go find new prey, doesn't he? He needs more and more…"

_I guess Blake's trying to break him, but what good is a confession if he does?_ Norman couldn't figure out what Blake was trying to do as he witnessed Nathaniel become more and more upset and Blake grew more and more agitated.

"No…Noooo," Nathaniel cried out. "You mustn't mention him. You'll bring him here."

"He told you to go find that kid in the park. The voices tormented you all night long. You wanted them to stop, didn't you Nathaniel? Blake leaned in to the man, his voice rising in anger, spittle and foam beginning to form on his lips.

"Stop, stop, that's enough," Nathaniel began to sob.

_Shit Blake is totally out of his mind. I can't just stand here and do nothing. I've got to stop him; he's going too far. _The poor man was on the verge of a breakdown. Norman couldn't allow Blake to continue. "Blake what are you doin'?" Norman interrupted, but Carter just ignored the Agent.

"So you obeyed them to make them stop. You took that boy with you and you drowned him!" Carter grabbed Nathaniel by the neck with his thick, gloved hand and spat his words out into the man's face, pushing him backwards in anger. "Isn't that right?"

"No. Noooo. Stop, stop!" Nathaniel cried out as Blake shoved the man down onto the floor.

"Carter, shit, are you out of your mind?" Norman cried out, trying to step in between the two men. Blake just shoved Norman out of the way with one hand, as if Norman was completely inconsequential.

"You killed them, didn't you Nathaniel?" Blake shouted, his menacing frame hovering over the timid man lying on the floor. "Are you gonna confess you bastard?" Carter raged and lifted his foot and kicked Nathaniel right in the abdomen… hard. Norman cringed as he swore he heard a few ribs crack. Nathaniel let out a groan and rolled over onto his side, while Carter stood his ground.

In one swift movement, Nathaniel was up on his feet as he pulled a service issue M1911 out of his jacket pocket and held it up, aiming right at Blake. "You are the Anti-Christ!" he declared.

Norman immediately pulled out his own sidearm, a Glock 22 and raised his arms, aiming at Nathaniel. "Put down the gun Nathaniel!" he demanded.

Nathaniel ignored the Agent. "I shall dispatch you to your father in hell!" he hollered, taking a wide stance, still aiming his weapon at Blake. "He is the son of Satan. He was sent to Earth to destroy us."

Carter stood, his hands open at his sides, eyeing Nathaniel's gun nervously. It was the first time Norman had ever seen the man show any kind of fear. "Shoot Jayden, for Christ's sakes! Shoot!" Blake demanded in exasperation.

Norman, however, had another idea. He was a skilled FBI profiler, with years of psychological experience and training under his belt. He had even spent an extra year at Quantico with the Behavioural Analysis was exactly the kind of situation he was qualified to handle, to talk down a perpetrator to avoid a violent altercation. With one hand still aiming his weapon at Nathaniel, he gestured to Blake with his other hand to be quiet. _I know what I'm doing Carter, just keep your Goddamn mouth shut_ _and don't make the situation any worse._

"You're not gonna kill the Anti-Christ with a revolver Nathaniel. He's much too powerful for that," Norman explained to the delusional man.

"Anti-Christ my ass!" shouted Blake, holding up his hands slightly, in an attempted show of non-aggression. "Get that gun outta my face!" He was clearly agitated at the circumstances and wanted Norman to do something about it. Norman witnessed the cop swallow hard, as little beads of sweat broke out on the older man's forehead.

"Concentrate on my voice, Nathaniel. Listen only to my voice," said Norman, trying to sound as comforting and soothing as possible.

"Demon, you shall regret confronting the emissary of the Lord. You shall know divine power!" Nathaniel rocked back and forth, unsteadily on his feet, shaking his gun at Blake.

_Holy fuck, why isn't this working. _Norman felt his heart begin to race and he was aware of a drop of sweat rolling down his face, inside his shirt collar and down his back. He hadn't noticed until now, all the hairs on the back of his neck and arms were standing up.

"I'm here to help you Nathaniel. To get rid of the voices in your head, but you'll have to trust me," Norman reassured the man. _Why isn't he responding? This is classic textbook. _He felt a shiver go down his spine and doubt began to creep into his mind. _Maybe it's not going to be so easy. Maybe you're losing your touch Norman. _

"Christ all powerful. Defend us in our battle with the forces of Evil," Nathaniel stepped closer to Blake, pointing his weapon straight at the detective's face. "Protect us from the cunning and wiles of the Demon! May God Almighty manifest the power of His Empire, and may Divine Power cast Satan and all the other spirits that prowl the world in search of souls into the darkest depths of Hell."

Norman realized the man had completely lost his mind and at this point was unsure if he could talk him back from the edge. _Screw psychology. This guy has got to stop!_ "Enough Nathaniel. Put the gun down. Immediately!" Norman yelled. But Nathaniel still wouldn't respond. _Come on Norman, pull the trigger._ The Agent's finger twitched inside the trigger guard. _Why are you hesitating?_ He had never actually killed a man before. _You are trained to do this. Just pull the fucking trigger!_ "Drop the gun Nathaniel!" _One more chance to convince him._ But Nathaniel held his ground. _If you let Carter get shot, you will lose your badge. The guy may be a total douche bag, but as his partner you have the responsibility to keep him safe._

Norman flipped off his gun's safety and applied soft pressure to the trigger with his index finger. And then unexpectedly, like a bolt of lightening, a searing pain shot up the back of his head. His vision flickered and all of a sudden he was blinded. His scalp felt like tiny insects were crawling around inside his head. _What the fuck? I can't see!_ Gasping, Norman took a deep breath, as his right hand started to shake. _No, no, not the tremors._

"Norman, what the fuck are you doing?" Carter barked over to him, as Nathaniel still had his weapon trained on the cop. Time had slowed down and Carter's words snarled at him, sounding like a record player in slow motion. "Noooorrrrrrmaaaannnnnn….." The Agent felt like he was in a wind tunnel, the Doppler effect causing Carter's words to be distorted. "Whhhhaaatttt … the ffffuuuuuccckkkkkk…."

And then, suddenly, he was standing in an autumnal forest, a cold wind stirring up the leaves on the ground, whipping through the trees, blowing around the Agent's chestnut locks of hair. Thunder rumbled in the distance and streaks of lightening shot across the vivid indigo sky. Norman looked up at the blowing trees and the dark clouds forming in the atmosphere. _No, no no… not now! Why now?_ _You can't do this now._ He took one hand off his weapon and fumbled in his coat pocket, searching for his vial of precious Tripto. He felt a drop of moisture from his nose. _Christ, not the nosebleeds too? _Looking down, Norman saw a slow drip of blood, falling from his face, down onto his suit jacket. The drop landed with a loud bang. _Wait a minute… bang? Since when does falling blood made a noise?_


	2. Um vita est, spes est

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)

**A/N** - A huge thank you to everyone for all your kind reviews so far. Everyone who participates in this fandom is so fantastic! I really appreciate all your support. You definitely keep me inspired to continue writing.

For this chapter I did some medical research online, and also drew from my own basic training in first aid and CPR, however I am not a trained medical professional so I'm sure there are plenty of inaccuracies in the medical scenario I have written. For that I do apologize in advance, please don't flame.

Also, in case anyone is interested, you might want to check out Tvtropes dot org. Here is a funny link to the Trope they call "Worst Aid" http:/tvtropes dot org/pmwiki/pmwiki dot php/Main/WorstAid . I came across this after I had finished writing this chapter, so although not intentional, how many of these can you spot in my scene? lol (Just replace a "." where I've spelled out "dot" in the URL.)

And last but not least, forgive me for how poorly I may have written any Blayden references. This is my first time writing Blayden (or any slash before), so I'm still feeling all of it out and trying to get the hang of it.

Okay... on with the show! Enjoy, and please review. :)

Rated M for swearing, violence, blood, and homo-erotic themes.

* * *

More flashes of lightening criss-crossed through the ever-darkening sky and Norman felt another drop of blood roll out of his nose and onto his shirt. Tilting his head back, Norman looked up; his vision had begun to clear, leaving little sparks flashing on his retinas. His hearing came flooding back to him like a needle skipping on a record player and when the blurriness finally receded he saw Blake clutching his chest with his hand. Then another loud bang resounded and Blake's body crumpled to the dirty floorboards.

Norman saw the man fall as if he were moving in slow motion. Carter's massive frame doubled over, almost bending in half at the waist, and then his knees buckled and gave out from underneath him. His body falling like a discarded piece of paper wadded up and then tossed aside. He fell backwards onto his right shoulder and hip and then the detective rolled and ended up laying on his back; his once ominous dark overcoat, now providing a soft cradle for the man's broken, shattered body. A grimace of pain crossed over the Lieutenant's face and his features contorted in agony. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his mouth opened to reveal pearly-white canines. A loud gasp escaped Carter's lips and was quickly followed by an even louder, "Fuck!"

Nathaniel stood, still holding the smoking gun, while towering over the detective's body. "In the name of the Lord, I exorcise thee, Satan. You shall burn in hell. In the undying furnace of damnation, you shall spend the rest of eternity," he cursed Blake, spitting onto the man's limp body, leaving his mark behind - a foamy white dribble of mucous running down the side of the detective's overcoat.

"Nathaniel," Norman stammered in shock, unable to even move. The religious zealot looked down at Carter's body and saw a pool of blood begin to form, crimson rivulets slowly running over the floor, staining the unpolished wood, while Norman's own bloody nose continued to drip onto his shirt. Nathaniel, frightened by the sight of all the blood, looked at the Agent in disbelief, his own gun loose in his hand, and then turned and ran out the door.

Norman shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. He could barely stand let alone make a run for Nathaniel. He felt like both his brain and his limbs were swimming in a thick pea soup. _Damn it, it's too late to shoot. The man is out the door and down the stairs. Christ what a mess! I got a partner down and a suspect on the run. They'll have my badge and my gun for this!_

"Christ Norman, don't just stand there," Blake hollered out in agony, clutching his arm and rolling back and forth on the floor. _Blake! He's alive! _Norman forced himself to push through his foggy Tripto withdrawal, like clearing a path through dirty cobwebs in an old forgotten dusty house. He bent down to the floor, placing his gun on the ground at his feet, to check on the detective. "Where are you hit?" Norman asked, gingerly feeling around Carter's body for signs of his injuries. Blake's only response was a low, guttural moan, as he ground his back molars together and continued to contort his face from the pain.

Norman tenderly probed the Lieutenant's limbs as gently as possible. As he moved his hands down Blake's left arm, his fingers snagged on some frayed strands of fabric. Wiggling his index finger, Norman probed further and found himself poking right through a bullet hole in the sleeve of Blake's overcoat. _Shit!_ Carefully, Norman reached up and began to peel back the older man's coat from his shoulders. He pulled Blake's left arm out of the sleeve so he could tend to the bullet wound. The detective let out a gasping cry as Norman bent the man's elbow to manoeuvre his arm through the sleeve. "I'm sowry," apologized Norman. "It's gonna hurt, but I have to see how bad your injuries are." Norman then wrapped and tucked the rest of the coat somewhat haphazardly around the man's torso. He knew he had to keep Carter warm so he didn't go into shock from the loss of blood.

Pulling off his own leather jacket, Norman rolled it up into a soft, loose bundle. Carefully, he placed one hand under Carter's neck and his fingers gently caressed the salt and pepper hair at the base of the detective's skull. Norman was surprised to discover Blake's hair so soft to the touch, because it looked as coarse as everything else was about the man. _That must be some conditioner he uses_. Lifting Carter's head up slightly, Norman placed his jacket under the man's skull to cushion and support his head and neck from the hard floor. "Nnnnnn... fuck…." Blake swore, moving his head back and forth, trying to pull away from Norman's touch. "What the fuck…"

"Calm down Cartah," said Norman. "I'm gonna call for help. You're gonna be okay." _He's still swearing at me, so that's gotta be a good sign. _Norman plucked his cell phone out of his pants pocket and dialled 911. While the line was ringing, he began to fumble with Blake's tie. "Don't fucking touch me," Blake cursed at him, weakly attempting to raise an arm and swat at Norman's hand. But the detective failed miserably, barely able to raise it a couple of inches, and his appendage fell limply to the floor. His strength was clearly draining fast.

"I'm trying to help you breathe," explained Norman, trying to give the man some more air. _God, my hands are trembling._ His shaky fingers made it difficult to undo the tie, the slippery silk sliding through his grasp.

"911. What's the nature of your emergency?" asked the 911 operator as she came on the line.

"This is FBI Agent Nahmen Jayden. I'm at 516 Ashwood Lane, Apt 4. I have an officer down, and the perp is on the run," explained Norman as he continued to fumble with Blake's tie. "Send medical assistance and a back-up squad. Put out an APB, the shooter's name is Nathaniel Williams. White male, 39 years of age, brown hair, brown eyes. About 5'8". Last seen wearing jeans, a green shirt and a light-gray jacket. He's also wearing a silver crucifix and is armed and dangerous. I repeat, armed and dangerous."

"Help and backup is on the way Agent Jayden," assured the operator.

"Great," said Norman and he quickly hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor so he could turn his full attention back to Blake. Finally he managed to undo the knotted tie and loosened the collar of the detective's shirt. Blake moaned and his eyelids fluttered. Norman reached out a hand and slapped it across his face. "Wake up!" Norman shouted. "You have to stay awake."

He grabbed Blake's chin in his hand and the Lieutenant opened his eyes again. "Get your hands off me," he groaned. "That's it," said Norman. "Stay with me." He gently caressed Blake's face, feeling the prickles of stubble already growing on his cheeks. _Christ,_ t_he man has enough testosterone coursing through his veins; he must have to shave four times a day._

Despite the hostility between the two men, the last thing Norman wanted was for Blake to die, especially since it was due to his own fuck up that they were in this precarious situation. Norman realized he had to do something to quickly staunch the bleeding. _His tie! I can make a tourniquet with the tie!_

Norman carefully probed Blake's arm, exploring the folds of his shirtsleeve, until his fingers came across the ragged edges of the cloth. The textile was blackened and singed and Blake's bicep had a half-inch diameter wound from the .45 caliber bullet. It looked like it had travelled straight through the muscle and blood was rapidly escaping the damaged tissue. Norman used the edge of Blake's shirt to wipe away the blood to get a closer look at the injury The wound was clean through, entry and exit holes both clearly visible, so there was no danger of an imbedded bullet causing infection, but the speed of the blood flow caused Norman to fear that a major artery had been hit. Although using a tourniquet increased the risk of possible limb amputation, the Agent took a gamble, knowing Blake would be happier to be alive even if he did end up losing an arm. Working quickly, Norman slipped Carter's tie from around his neck and tied the silky fabric in a tight know just above the bleeding wound, to cut off the arterial line to the detective's heart, hoping to stem the tide of blood. Carter groaned, his face wrenching in seemingly unbearable agony. He twisted his shoulders over the floor and wrenched his body as if caught in a battle with some invisible demon.

"Stop moving," Norman told him, placing both his hands on Blake's shoulders to try to keep him still. "Help is gonna be here soon." But the pool of blood beneath Blake's body continued to grow in volume. _What the Fuck? I thought I stopped the bleeding? Christ where is it all coming from?_

Then Norman suddenly remembered; he had heard two gunshots and neither he nor Blake had fired their weapons. He flung back the folds of the detective's overcoat that was keeping his wounded body warm. Carter's blue dress shirt underneath the coat had progressively turned a dark crimson colour from the coagulating blood. Swiftly, Norman began to undo the buttons on Blake's shirt and then thought better of it and ripped the fabric apart, the tiny white buttons scattering in multiple directions over the hard wood floor.

He let out a loud gasp as he saw the gaping, bloody wound on the lower left side of Blake's abdomen, just below his ribcage. Norman tore the man's shirt off the rest of his body, the fabric ripping into pieces at his excessive force. Wadding up the shirt, Norman wrapped it around his hand and began to compress the wound, applying direct pressure to the injury. "Nnnnggghhhh," Blake cried out in pain. "Son of a bitch!"

"Keep talking Cartah, stay with me!" Norman commanded the Lieutenant. He pressed harder on the bleeding wound, his eyes speedily assessing the rest of Blake's body, trying to determine if the man had any more hidden injuries. Taking in the sight of the detective's bare chest, he saw the line of thick, black hair beginning at his neck and sprinkled over his pecs, nipples and down his chest, thinning over his abdomen before meeting up with the coarser, darker line of pubic hair just below his navel. Norman felt a stirring in his own abdomen and lower as he drank in the view before him. Carter's arms, shoulders and abdominal muscles were well defined; he obviously lifted weights on a regular basis. It was evident he took pride in his appearance and looked after himself very well. For someone in his 40's, he appeared to have the physique of a much younger man, albeit with just a slight thickening around his middle, likely due to the onset of middle age and a desk-job.

His flesh was swarthy and his skin was scattered with scars and marks, all proof of past injuries. Making sure to keep tight pressure on Carter's current gunshot wound, Norman lightly ran his free hand over Blake's chest, stopping to stroke a gnarled scar underneath his right nipple. It resembled the puckered protuberance of a navel orange and it matched the size and shape of a 9mm bullet. Clearly Blake had been shot before. Running his hand lower, Norman traced what looked like a 4-inch surgical scar across his upper abdomen. _Gallbladder surgery?_ A large tattoo was displayed front and centre over Carter's right pectoral muscle. A silver police shield with scrolled writing spelling out "To Serve and Protect" flowed across the badge. Underneath was the number 572. _Carter's Badge number?_ Above the shield was a feathered eagle, with both wings spread, as if about to take flight. Norman touched the tattoo tenderly, wondering how long ago Carter had gotten it. By the look of the faded ink, it was plenty long ago. _Probably got it when he was fresh out of the academy, just a young, wide-eyed rookie cop with plenty of enthusiasm and vigour. And now here he is lying in a pool of his own blood, all because of my carelessness._ Norman forced himself to sniff back the lump that was beginning to well up in his throat. _Stop thinking like that and pull yourself together!_

Another moan escaped Blake's mouth and Norman pulled his hand away from the lieutenant's flesh as if he had been burned. His eyes roamed over the wound he was currently applying pressure to and then glanced over at the tourniquet on Blake's arm. "Ah shit!" Norman exclaimed. The silk tie had slipped free of the knot and come undone.

Grabbing Blake's right hand, still sheathed in his thick, black leather gloves, he pressed the detective's fingers against the shirt he was holding over the bullet hole "Here, press as hard as you can," said Norman, hoping the man had some strength left in him.

"Fuckin' …. Asshole…," Blake retorted, the words not half as scathing as usual, forcing the expletives out through long ragged breaths. His gloved fingers fluttered weakly, as he attempted to hold back the blood that was continuing to pour from the wound.

Norman grabbed the tie and tried to reapply the tourniquet but it was useless. The silk was drenched with blood, an ineffective jumble of wet fabric. Dropping the tie on the floor, Norman looked around, looking for something else he could use for a tourniquet. He didn't want to fumble with his own tie; the silk would again just turn into a soggy mess. Scanning Blake's body, he quickly caught his eye on the glinting silver buckle of the detective's belt. _That'll work! I forgot to wear a belt today, so I'll just have to use Carter's._

Norman reached over and grabbed a hold of Carter's belt and began to undo the buckle. Nervously, his shaking hands fumbled with the prong as he attempted to pull it free from the hole in the leather tongue. His hand brushed the front of Carter's crotch and he immediately felt the massive bulge in the lieutenant's pants. "You…. fuckin' queer…" panted Blake, "Don't be… fuckin' doin'… no fag things to me." Feeling a stirring in his own pants, Norman swallowed hard and he continued to work on unfastening the belt. _Get it together Norman and stop thinking about what masculine delights are hidden underneath Carter's pants._

Finally he had the buckle open and began to feed the belt through the pant loops. Blake groaned in pain, as Norman adjusted the man onto his side to get the rest of the belt free from under his waist. Gently easing Carter back down onto the floor, Norman's eyes grew wide as the man's pants slipped lower onto his hips without the aide of the belt to keep them up. A treasure trail of coarse, black pubic hair ran from the man's navel down into the waist of his boxer briefs that were now sticking up above the waist of his dress pants. _Jesus H. on a pogo stick!_

Norman's crotch stirred again, as he felt his own body begin to betray him. Ignoring the pulsing in his groin, he quickly worked with the belt to fasten it around Blake's arm. Tightly pulling it just above the bullet hole, stemming the flow of blood once again. Looking back to Blake's chest wound, he saw the detective's once blue shirt was now completely soaked through with blood. It was a gory mess. _Shit! Where the hell are the cops and paramedics. How much time has passed since I called? _Norman looked at his watch, and found it had only been two minutes since he made the call to 911. _God it feels like two hours!_

Feeling the panic rising in his stomach, Norman didn't know how much longer Blake could hold on. He put a hand to Blake's throat; he could still feel a pulse but it was getting thready and weaker. Norman could see the man's flesh becoming paler, as blood continued to exit his body. He knew Carter was going down the drain and fast. This virile beast of a man was succumbing before his very eyes. His breath sounds had begun to sound raspy and wheezy… almost liguidy. _God, did he have a punctured lung? Was it filling with blood?_

Norman looked around the dingy apartment and then remembered the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Quickly deciding he could leave the detective alone for a few brief seconds, he was up on his feet and dashed into the bathroom. Norman stood in front of the glass medicine cabinet and saw his dishevelled image staring back at him. His reflection showed smeared dried blood on his face, running from his nose to his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary and his once finely gelled and styled hair was matted to his head from sweat and blood. The Agent yanked open the cabinet door, practically pulling it off its hinges. He swept his hands quickly over the contents, searching for anything that could prove helpful to the injured man lying in the next room. "Come on… bandages… gauze.. there's gotta be somethin' I can use!" Norman muttered, but his search was in vain. Nathaniel had a well-stocked pharmaceutical inventory of various pills and vitamins, but not a single first aid supply to be found. _Not even a fuckin' bandaid!_

Hesitating, Norman's fingers hovered over a bottle of Vicodin. He paused for a minute and then picked up the bottle, quickly scanning the label. He thought about giving a dose of the medicine to Blake to help him with his pain, but then scratched that idea. The Agent remembered from his first aid training at Quantico that narcotics could severely suppress a victim's breathing and quite possibly kill them. _God damn it! _He dropped the bottle of pills and raced from the bathroom into the kitchen. Quickly, Norman began opening up all the cupboard doors, searching for anything to use as a bandage. Then his eyes lit up when he spotted a roll of plastic wrap on the counter. He grabbed the wrap and then rummaged through a drawer and found a roll of duct tape and also grabbed what looked like a relatively clean dishtowel from the side of the sink.

With his newfound prizes in his hands, Norman rushed back into the living room and knelt down next to the detective. Blake moaned as Norman pulled back the blood soaked shirt from his chest wound. Working quickly, the profiler unfurled the plastic wrap and laid out a piece just large enough to cover the injury. Ripping pieces of duct tape from the roll with his teeth, Norman secured the patch on three sides, leaving the fourth side untaped. This would help to prevent any air from entering Carter's chest cavity and also re-inflate what Norman had diagnosed as a collapsed lung. _Good ol' field medicine. You can just call me MacGyver. _He then folded up the towel and pressed it on top of the patched wound to staunch any further bleeding.

Blake's guttural moans and groans had slowed and weakened during Norman's medical procedures and then the Agent realized Carter's cusses and insults were no longer forthcoming. "Stay with me Blake!" Norman yelled. "Don't you dare fuckin' die on me!" He slapped the detective across the face and Carter's eyelids flickered but remained closed. "Don't you make me put my fuckin' lips on your mouth!" Norman shouted, thinking a sarcastic gay joke might get the Lieutenant's attention.

He felt Carter's neck for a pulse again. _Damn, nothing_. Leaning over, he cocked his head and put his ear to Blake's mouth. He couldn't hear a single breath sound. _Fuck!_ Carter's skin was turning dusky and his lips had faded to a pale bluish tinge.

Putting his first aid training to good use again, Norman started CPR. Leaning over the lieutenant, he interlaced his hands, one on top of another and placed the heel of his hand in the middle of Blake's chest. He then started to do chest compressions, quickly pumping up and down. The man was built like an ox, and Norman could feel every muscle, bone and sinew as he continued to pump. _100 pushes a minute, I need to do 30 compressions. _Norman mentally reminded himself of the annual CPR refreshers he had to take at Quantico.

He stopped the chest compressions and then tilted Blake's chin up, plugging the man's nose with one hand. Pausing only for a mili-second to briefly consider what he was about to do, Norman then placed his lips to Blake's mouth and blew a huge breath into the man's lungs. Norman realized it was not entirely unpleasant, having his mouth against the lips of a man who had spewed pure vitriol at him almost the entire past 24 hours. Blake's lips were dry but warm. His mouth tasted of toothpaste. Crest Vanilla Mint flavour if Norman was correct. And something else? Just an underlying hint of coffee. Norman felt himself swell in arousal, as his tongue made contact with Blake's. _Goddamnit, stop getting turned on by this jerk and just save his damn life! You are being so inappropriate!_

Norman watched as Blake's chest rose and fell with the breath and then he breathed into the man's mouth again. "Damn you Blake! Breathe you fucking prick!" Norman shouted. But still nothing. He then moved back to chest compressions. Harder this time. Leaning over the man's body, he pumped with all his strength. His breathing became laboured and he could feel the sweat running down his face and arms. This was a thousand times harder to do on a real person than on the practice dummies at Quantico. _Fucking rookie! Never had to give CPR to a real human being before._

He paused and tilted Blake's chin up again, blowing more air into the man's mouth and lungs. The lieutenant's thick goatee tickled Norman's face, as he breathed once more into Blake's mouth. Still nothing. _This wasn't how I ever imagined kissing you, you douche bag._

Again Norman moved back to chest compressions. _Where the fuck is that goddamn ambulance? _He heard some cracking and popping sounds with each pump and realized he had probably broken a few of the man's ribs. _How long can I keep this up?_ His arms began to buckle from fatigue as he swapped out to give two more deep rescue breaths to the detective. Back to chest compressions again, "Fuck Blake, you have to fight," Norman pleaded, continuing to rail on the man's muscular chest.

The wailing sound of a siren finally sounded in the distance. Norman heard the long repeating squeal of a cop car, followed by the distinct bee-boo, bee-boo of an ambulance siren. Finally, help was almost here.

* * *

**A/N** - In case anyone is curious about my story and chapter titles, I always suck at coming up titles for stories so many of my pieces end up going unnamed. So I decided to turn to latin for some inspiration. The story title "Mea Culpa" means "My Mistake" or "My Fault."

Chapter 1 - "Damnant quod non intellegunt" means "They condemn what they do not understand"

Chapter 2 - "Um vita est, spes est" means "While there is life, there is hope "

I think the reason why I chose these particular phrases is evident for each of the chapters.


	3. Memento Vivere

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)

**A/N** - Thank you to everyone for your reviews, and to those out there who are reading but haven't reviewed, I'd love to hear your feedback.

I had actually planned to wrap up the story with this chapter, but once I had written an ending I wasn't satisfied with it. So I wrote another ending but didn't like that either. Then I wrote one more ending and although I liked how I had ended it, I felt it was rushed and I hadn't fleshed out the story enough. So now I've got a whole lot more planned for this story before I get to my planned ending. (And maybe when I'm all done I'll also post those other endings and let you readers decide which one you like the best.)

This chapter doesn't have as much action as the previous two chapters, but it explores the character of Norman a little more. Hopefully you'll stick around; I've got some good stuff planned as I continue to write.

One more side note, I probably won't have my next chapter up until May. I'm an accountant and it's tax time (until April 30th here in Canada) so I'm swamped. And normally I usually have my next chapter at least half written when I post a chapter up here on fanfiction, but I don't have Chapter 4 started yet. So my apologies, but I hope you'll come back and keep reading, because I promise I am still writing! I just may have some longer delays in my posting for a little while.

Rated M for swearing, violence, blood, and homo-erotic themes. (although not much of any of them appear in this chapter, except swearing. Apparently Norman has quite the potty-mouth in his thoughts!)

To OnlySnakesCanLove - I think I love you as much as I love Blake. It's so nice to find someone as obsessed with that asshole as much as I am. Lol :) (P.S. I really tried to pay more attention to where I was putting commas when I wrote this chapter. They are the bane of my existence, but I think I did better this time. Although I know I am still a horrible comma abuser! Thank you for that feedback.)

Enjoy!

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Norman was beginning to exhaust himself, but he had to keep going. _Just until the paramedics get here. _The detective's life depended on him. He steeled himself and dug down into his gut, into the deepest part of himself, and forced himself to rely on every ounce of courage and strength he had.

A few seconds later, Norman heard the footsteps of the emergency personnel thumping up the staircase and so he finally sat back, too exhausted to continue on with the CPR. His arms were like limp, wet noodles. He took his hands off Blake's chest and fell back onto his ass onto the floor, letting the paramedics take over and do their job.

The three medics rushed into the room, instantly surrounding Carter and setting down their large bags of medical gear. Two of them placed an ambu-bag over Blake's mouth and immediately restarted CPR, while the other quickly set up an IV in Blake's right arm and administered a shot of atropine.

Norman watched as they charged up a portable defibrillator and placed the two paddles on the detective's chest. "Clear!" called out a medic. A loud high-pitched electric whine filled the air and then with a ka-thunk, a massive shock discharged through Blake's chest, jolting his body off the ground. Another whine sounded as the machine recharged. "Clear!" Again the medic shocked Carter.

With shaking hands, Norman wrapped his arms around his legs where he sat on the floor. His heart was racing and he could still feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He felt more jacked than any hit of Tripto had ever made him feel. _Jesus Blake, don't you fucking die! _

The medics shocked Carter for a third time and this time the machine let out a slow steady beeping sound. "We've got rhythm," declared one of the medics. "Hang two units of O-Negative. Let's bag him and get the hell out of here." They carefully lifted Blake's body onto a stretcher, locked the wheels and then rolled him out of the apartment.

Norman felt a stream of moisture rolling from his eyes and briefly feared they were bleeding from Tripto withdrawal, but then he realized it was just tears. He was crying. _Thank fucking Christ! Carter's alive! _They just had to get him to the hospital and hopefully he would live. One of the cops who had been deployed to the scene stepped over to check on Norman while her partner unfurled a roll of yellow police tape and began to secure the scene.

The female cop bent down and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Agent Jayden?" she asked. "I'm Sergeant Ryan. Are you okay sir?" Looking up at the beautiful, but tough looking officer with skin the color of caramel candy, Norman wiped his damp face and eyes, smearing Blake's blood from his hands all over his face. "That's an awful lot of blood you're covered in," the cop said compassionately. "Are you injured anywhere?"

"No… no…" stammered Norman. "I'm fine. I wasn't hit, it's not my blood." He choked back a sob, feeling embarrassed for crying in front of the female police officer.

"I think you should get some medical attention," she said, her long dark curls bobbing at her shoulders as she reached for the radio on her waist. "I'll call for another ambulance."

But before she could make the call, Norman struggled to his feet. "Really, I'm okay," he insisted. The officer looked sceptical. "What about Nathaniel Williams?" he asked.

"We've got a squad out looking for him. Do you have any more information that might be useful?" Sergeant Ryan asked.

Norman shook his head and wiped at his face again. "No, I gave all the details in my APB to the 911 operator." He looked over at the other police officer who had picked up Norman's Glock from where he had left it on the floor by Blake's body.

"Is this your revolver Agent?" asked the deep-voiced cop, spitting out the word 'Agent' with barely veiled malice. _What is it with the cops in this town; no one has any respect for the FBI? _ The tall Hispanic officer held up the gun with two fingers gently grasping the grip, his hands sheathed in purple latex gloves.

"Yes," said Norman, holding out his hand to take it back.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the officer, sneering at Jayden as he dropped the weapon into a Ziploc plastic bag and secured it. "This will need to be taken back to the station for evidence."

"But I didn't fire it," explained the Agent. "I just dropped it on the floor when I was giving CPR."

The cop looked at him suspiciously. "Ballistics will be the ones to determine that," he said coldly.

"Well can I at least have my cell phone?" asked Norman, pointing toward his device he had also left on the floor while giving Blake first aid.

Perez responded with a grunt, which Norman took to mean an affirmative, so he grabbed the phone from the floor and clipped it onto the waist of his pants. "We're going to have to take your statement now," the officer continued.

"Sergeant Perez, I think we need to get him to the hospital first," said Ryan, reaching out and touching Norman's hand sympathetically. "I don't know if all this blood belongs to the victim or not and I'm not taking any chances"

"This is a crime scene," replied Perez, his eyes giving Jayden a deadly glare. "My first priority is to take the Agent's statement before anyone leaves." _So this is what the whole good-cop/bad-cop routine feels like to be on the receiving end._

"You can take his statement at the hospital," Ryan interrupted, placing her hands on Norman's shoulders and guiding him to the doorway. "He'll be waiting for you there."

* * *

**Local hospital – Wednesday, October 5****th****, 2011, 6:10pm**

Norman lay curled up in a fetal position across three orange plastic chairs in the emergency room waiting area. His blood stained leather jacket was thrown haphazardly over his body but it provided little warmth as he dozed fitfully in and out of sleep. He had seen a triage nurse upon his arrival at the hospital but was deemed to be fine. He had no need for medical attention, as he had been trying to tell the officers at the apartment and during the ride in the squad car to the hospital. Sergeant Perez had been waiting for Jayden when the nurse finally released him and he then succumbed to over an hour of questioning. When Perez had finally decided he had enough answers, he warned Norman not to leave town. _I'm an FBI Agent investigating a fucking murder case. Where the hell am I gonna go?_

After the police officer left the hospital, Norman had cleaned himself up in the public washroom the best he could, washing the dried blood and snot off his face and rinsing out his hair in the sink. He had barely been able to get through the police questioning when he had felt the cold chills crawl up the back of his spine and his right hand began to shake. But he hid it… just barely. Once he had made himself semi-presentable, he snorted a vial of Tripto while hiding in a bathroom stall. He then took up vigil in a corner of the waiting room. The drug had knocked him out cold and he had been sleeping for over three hours.

Meanwhile, while Norman slept off the after effects of the traumatic experience, emergency physicians and nurses had worked diligently to save Lieutenant Blake's life. They took over from the paramedics once they had arrived with the detective at the hospital, transfusing both saline and blood into his body. Skilled surgeons then spent over seven hours in the operating room repairing Blake's punctured lung, arm and other abdominal injuries from the gunshots.

Coming to, Norman slowly sat up from his prone position and groaned. His back was kinked; the muscles feeling like someone had tap-danced all over them while he had slept. The hospital chairs were definitely as uncomfortable as they were ugly. Norman stretched his arms up over his head and yawned, his brain a little fuzzy from his nap and the after effects from his latest Tripto hit. Squinting, he saw a vending machine in the corner and then as if on cue his belly let out a loud rumble. _How long ago since I had something to eat?_ Then he remembered the disgusting precinct coffee he had tasted first thing in the morning and nothing else since then.

Swinging his legs onto the floor, Norman started to get up, but a surgeon dressed in green scrubs walked briskly through the doorway just at that moment. The Agent looked up, hoping for some good news. The Dr. pulled his scrub cap off his head and sat down next to Norman in the plastic chairs. The Agent took notice of the streaks of dried blood down the front of the surgeon's operating gown and swallowed back a hiccup that threatened to bubble up from his throat. Norman was acutely aware of the matching stains of Blake's blood down the front of his own clothes.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Kardish. It was a long surgery and Lt. Blake had some very extensive tissue and organ damage from the gunshots," explained the surgeon.

"So, he's….?" Norman stammered, too afraid to finish the question.

A smile crossed over the Dr's face. "We managed to patch him up and repair his injuries. He's in the ICU right now, still in serious condition, so we'll have to monitor him closely. "

Norman released the breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding. Tears threatened to well up from his eyes and he ran his hands through his dirty, matted hair. _Thank fucking God!_

"He's not out of the woods yet," Dr. Kardish continued. "But we'll give him the best medical care we can. He's still got a long road of recovery ahead of him."

"Thank you Dr. Thank you so much!" Norman exclaimed, clasping one hand on the surgeon's back and pumping the Dr's hand in a vigorous handshake with his other hand.

The surgeon smiled meekly. "Just doing my job," he said, and then he nodded to the cell phone at Norman's hip. "You might want to do yours. I believe Captain Perry has been trying to reach you."

Norman let go of the Dr's hand and pulled the phone from the waistband of his pants and saw the LED display light up – '23 missed calls.' _Shit! _He had left his phone on vibrate_. _ "We told him not to bother coming down as there was nothing he could do for Lt. Blake anyway. And you've been out cold on the chairs here ever since Sergeant Perez left. The nurses felt bad and didn't want to wake you up," explained Dr. Kardish.

"Thank you for that," responded Norman. "When can I see him?"

"He's not awake yet and we'll need to keep a very close eye on him overnight. Why don't you go home and get some rest son?" suggested the surgeon. "You can come back again in the morning. We'll know more then anyway."

Norman nodded his head, a feeling of relief and fatigue suddenly coming over him despite his prolonged nap earlier. Dr. Kardish turned and started to walk back down the hallway, when he turned back to the Agent after only a few steps. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, beckoning to the triage nurse stationed at the patient check-in counter of the ER. The nurse held up a large Ziploc baggie and handed it to the Dr. "Here is Lt. Blake's belongings. His clothing was pretty much ruined so we disposed of it, and Sergeant's Perez and Ryan seized his gun, but this is everything else he had on his possession."

Dr. Kardish held out the bag and Norman took it from him. "Thank you again, for everything," said the Agent. The surgeon nodded and then walked back behind the swinging doors of the hospital.

Norman scanned the contents of the bag; it held Carter's gold watch that he had received upon promotion to Lieutenant, his gold police shield, the car keys to their police issued Caprice, Carter's house keys, his wallet and a gold pinky ring. _Why hadn't I noticed he was wearing that before? What kind of pretentious dick wears a pinky ring? _Norman let out a snicker and then pulled out the man's wallet and flipped through it. He found a handful of small bills, multiple credit and debit cards; nothing of immediate interest until he flipped to the plastic insert that usually housed photographs. Norman found one picture enclosed of a dark haired little girl, probably about five years of age. She was clothed in a red dress, black patent leather shoes, and she had her arms around the scruffy neck of a German shepherd, a big grin covering her face. The dog looked blissfully happy as well, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. _Who's the kid and the dog? _Instantly Norman's profiler instinct kicked in, realizing there might be a lot more to Carter than he first imagined. His fatigue had suddenly vanished and he recognized the familiar feel of adrenaline pounding through his system

He flipped back through all the plastic cards in the wallet until he found the detective's driver's took a glance at the address, pocketed the man's house keys and exited the hospital. _Time to pay Lt. Blake a little visit._

* * *

**Wednesday, October 5****th****, 2011, 8:35pm**

With no other means of transportation, Norman was forced to take a taxi to Carter's place, but he asked the cab driver to first swing by Nathaniel William's address. Just as he had suspected, the building had yellow tape cordoning off the front door. A lone guard was stationed at the door and a dozen or so reporters were milling about with cameras and microphones, likely finishing up their stories for the 10pm news report. Luckily the gray Caprice was still sitting out front, but Norman didn't want to risk picking it up now with all the reporters around. He would have to come back for it later.

During the cab ride, Norman's phone rang and it was Captain Perry. The Agent had forgotten about the missed calls after the surgeon had handed over the bag of Blake's possessions. After Perry made sure Norman was okay and uninjured he gave him a loud chewing out, causing Norman to hold the phone away from his ear. The cabby shot a sympathetic glance back at him while Perry continued to yell and curse.

Dr. Kardish had given Perry the same report on Blake he had given Norman back at the hospital, so there was no new update on that front. But Perry told the Agent to report back to him at the police station in the morning for a debriefing of the shooting and to continue his investigation of the Origami Killer. He also informed Jayden that he would be working with Detective Ash on the case now that Blake was temporarily out of commission. Norman responded in the affirmative and then quickly hung up the phone.

Realizing his stomach was still growling and he hadn't purchased any junk from the hospital vending machine since he was sidetracked by the surgeon's report on Blake, Norman got the cabby to swing through the drive-thru of a local McDonald's. He picked up a Big Mac value meal and two cheeseburgers. This was Jayden's fast food meal of choice back in University when he was pulling all-nighters while studying for his psychology degree. He had been known to polish off a value meal and cheeseburgers for dinner and then often make a midnight run for a McFlurry and an extra serving of fries. Norman's crazy fast metabolism had kept him slim all these years. He still did go to the gym from time to time, but it wasn't a daily or for that matter even weekly occurrence. He knew that with his age finally closing in on thirty this year he wouldn't be able to keep this up forever, but it was a comfort he delighted in and after the stressful, traumatic experience he had just had, he felt he deserved it. _God, I'm just like every woman on the planet. 'I'll start my diet tomorrow.'_

The taxi dropped Jayden off at Carter's house; a modest, split-entry bungalow out in the suburbs, about a 20 minute drive outside of town. It was a nice neighbourhood, the kind you imagined living and raising a family in. Carter's house was on a closed cul-de-sac. Norman paid the cab driver, giving him an extra large tip for the McDonald's detour and got out of the taxi, clutching the brown McDonald's paper bag to his chest as if it was filled with precious gold.

Rummaging through his pockets for Blake's house key, Norman shifted the paper bag from one hand to another. Awkwardly trying to handle the food and the Ziploc bag of Carter's possessions. The delightful greasy smell of the steaming hot fries and charbroiled meat wafted from the bag and caused his mouth to begin salivating. He couldn't wait to get inside so he could chow down. He turned the key in the lock and opened the front door, flipping on the foyer light. The entryway opened up into a split set of beautiful hardwood stairs, one set leading down to the basement, the other set upstairs into a hallway. Norman ditched his scuffed brown shoes in the foyer and made his way up the stairs. At the top, the hallway opened up into a living room on the left, the kitchen straight ahead, and then down to what Norman assumed were the bedrooms to the right.

_Time to eat! I can explore later._ The Agent headed straight into the kitchen, dropping the fast-food bag and the Ziploc bag onto the large kitchen island that sat in the middle of the room. Once his hands were free he switched on the overhead light; this late in the Fall and it was already pitch black outside. He shucked his dirty leather jacket onto a pair of bar stools that sat on one side of the island and quickly dipped his hand into the paper bag, pulling out a fistful of fries and cramming them into his mouth. The hot, salty flavour exploded on his taste buds and he literally felt his stomach roll as the first food he had eaten all day made its way into his belly. Grabbing another handful of fries, Norman opened the fridge to find something to drink. Blake's fridge was typical for any middle-aged, over-worked cop-bachelor. A few half empty Chinese food take out cartons and a greasy leftover pizza box littered the shelves. Some bottles of condiments and cans of Pepsi Max lined the door, while cartons of milk and orange juice with dubious expiry dates also turned up on Norman's little scavenger hunt. But he finally hit the jackpot as he rummaged deeper in the fridge when his hand closed around a can of Coors light. He popped the pull-tab, hearing the satisfying fizz and took a long guzzle from the can, throwing his head back. _Refreshing!_

Norman grabbed the rest of his food and, with beer in the other hand, he kicked the fridge door closed and walked out into the living room. He sat down on the brown leather sofa, the fabric cool to the touch. A glass coffee table provided the perfect repository for his food, and he unwrapped a cheeseburger and wolfed it down in two bites. Then without barely a pause, repeated the action on the second burger. He stopped only for a few sips of beer and to shovel more fries into his face.

Before he could turn to the Big Mac, Norman felt a gurgle begin to rumble through his stomach. He held a hand up to his mouth and choked back a burp behind his closed fist. _There's no way the Mickey D's has gone through my system that fast?_ Anyone who ate McDonald's was all too familiar with the after effects that greasy food had on the digestive system. But no, this wasn't the fast food; Norman recognized the shiver that crept up his spine and the fuzziness that was beginning to set in behind his eyes. His stomach recoiled again and he felt his intestines begin to churn.

Fumbling in his pants pocket, he pulled out his vial of Tripto and held it up to the light, giving it a quick shake. He saw that only about a quarter inch of the powder remained. Norman hesitated, wondering if he had enough back at his motel room to last him the rest of the case, but then quickly flipped off the top and took a quick snort of the remaining drug. He felt the comforting tingle start in his nasal passages, and then quickly spreading throughout his head and then down his arms, spine, stomach, legs…right to the tips of his toes. Even his intestines settled down from the magical touch of the little blue powder.

Norman let out a sigh of relief and cracked his neck to one side with a loud satisfying pop. He glanced at his watch. It was quarter to ten. _It's too late to go get my stash tonight, besides I don't even have a vehicle. Looks like I'm spending the night. _He got up off the couch, grabbing the fast food bag that held the remaining burger, and decided to check out the rest of Blake's house, determined to find a TV where he could catch the late night news report.

The Agent purposely chose to avoid investigating Carter's bedroom. As much as his curiosity attempted to get the better of him, wondering what sorts of clues he might find in Satan's den of iniquity, Norman decided that was an itch he could scratch another time. He made his way down the staircase leading to the basement, feeling along the wall to find a light switch in the dark. But before his hand could make contact with the switch plate he heard a low growl and Norman knew it wasn't his stomach rumbling again. He swiped his hand over the smooth painted wall, hoping to find a switch, when he heard the growling sound again. Waves of panic began to wash over Norman as his hand finally found a light switch and flipped it on. Immediately his gaze set upon a large German shepherd seated on a nearby couch, its ears alert sitting straight up on top of its head. Baring its fangs, the dog let out a loud bark and continued to stare down the Agent, making no bones about whose territory Norman had just stumbled into.

* * *

**A/N - "**_Memento Vivere" - _Translation: "Remember to live."

A/N - (4/14/11) - I had to go back and edit this chapter where I mentioned Norman's cell phone being clipped to his belt, when I remembered that he wasn't wearing a belt in the second chapter! Also, in response to netherlady's review/question: (I did PM you too) Norman goes to Blake's house because his profiler instinct kicked in when he looked through Blake's wallet and personal possessions. He's inquisitive and curious. Plus he's not thinking rationally or logically. The guy is a drug addict, so he's clearly not of sound mind. So I decided to use that as a vehicle to advance the story where I wanted it to go, and so he decides to check out Blake's place. Hope that makes sense to everyone. :)


	4. Cave canem

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)

**A/N** - Thank you to everyone for your reviews, especially OnlySnakesCanLove, my fellow Blayden fan. You have been my biggest supporter, so huge kisses and virtual blow-jobs to you babe!

For this chapter I did some research about dogs and I also have a friend who I totally admire and who knows so much about dogs I call him the dog whisperer. I don't have dogs of my own, so don't flame me for anything that may be incorrect about the dog scene. This story isn't about dog obedience, but merely a vehicle to tell my story.

This chapter is still more exploration of Norman's character but with a little bit more "excitement" than the last chapter. *wink*

Rated M for swearing and self-pleasure. *snicker*

* * *

Norman met the dog's stare, asserting his own authority and not cowering under the dog's intended dominance. "AAH!" Norman loudly asserted himself with a deep, forceful tone of voice. The short "A" sound, coupled with the calm, powerful assertiveness caused the dog to immediately close its mouth and stop snarling. It let out another bark and Norman emphasized his influence with a loud, "No!" The dog whined questioningly and then lowered its body, placing its head down on the blanket that was covering the sofa on which it was laying.

Norman took a step toward the dog; satisfied he had elevated his status and shown the pack animal its rightful place. "Good dog," he praised the obedient animal. _Thank God for summers in the country_. He had learned much about handling dogs during his summers spent with his Uncle and cousins in the Connecticut River Valley in Western Massachusetts. Born and raised in Boston, Norman always looked forward to each July when he was shipped off to the valley for two months every year. There he was free to shed his city-boy persona and live the life of a country-boy. His aunt and uncle bred Labrador retrievers and Norman learned much from his uncle, the "dog-whisperer". Norman learned that dogs instinctually needed rules to follow and limits to what they were allowed to do. When dogs live with humans, the humans become the dog's pack. For the relationship to succeed, humans must become the dogs pack leader.

Norman knew he had to assert himself as pack leader in order to get this dog to back down. And now that the dog had complied with his commands, a reward was definitely in order. Norman moved slowly but confidently over to the couch and sat down next to the dog. The dog raised one eyebrow, looking at Norman, its ears twitching as the Agent slid his hand into the paper bag and pulled out the Big Mac. _Let's see if you're hungry_. He saw the canine look of curiosity cross over the animal's face as it raised its head and cocked it to one side.

He opened up the cardboard container and placed it in front of the animal. "Good dog," Norman praised again and the animal's dark eyes looked up at him, its nose sniffing towards the burger. Norman nodded his head, "Go on," he said firmly, giving the dog permission to eat the treat.

While the dog wolfed down the Big Mac, spewing bits of bread and lettuce all over the couch, Norman gave it a gentle pat on the head and then took a hold of the collar and read the metal tags fastened at the dog's neck. He saw the name "Cadence" was stamped into the tag and then he snuck a quick peek at the dog's undercarriage; no equipment was visible. "Good girl," Norman cooed to the shepherd as she made short work of the burger. Cadence licked her muzzle, cleaning up any remaining crumbs and then nudged Norman's hand with her nose and let out a slight whimper. "What's the matter girl?" he asked, giving the dog a pat on the head. Cadence whined again. Then it dawned on him, the poor animal had been cooped up inside all day while he and Blake had been at Nathaniel's and then at the hospital. _Her bladder must be ready to burst!_

He got up off the sofa and headed toward the front door, beckoning for the dog to follow him. "Come on girl," he said. Cadence followed slowly, favouring her left hind leg. Norman observed her visible limp and wondered what had caused the dog to become lame. She tackled the stairs up to the front door with little difficulty; she was seasoned at getting around Blake's house, although her movements were awkward, clearly showing signs of advanced age.

After Cadence had a quick pee and poo outside while Norman patiently waited for her to finish her business, he let her back inside and the two of them took up perch on the comfortable sofa. Norman grabbed a nearby remote control and turned on the large flat screen TV to catch the 10 o'clock news. He attempted to stifle a yawn and he felt his eyes grow heavy as the traumatic events of the day began to catch up to him. The nap he had taken at the hospital was not nearly comfortable or satisfying enough and his last dose of Tripto was finally sinking in. All of his limbs and muscles were beginning to feel loose, like gelatine, and a mellow, carefree feeling had descended around Norman's brain like a light, fluffy cloud. It was definitely time to give in to the sandman.

As Norman curled up on the sofa, pulling a warm fleece blanket over himself and laying his head on a couple of throw pillows, the news anchor reported on the story of Nathaniel Williams.

"_And now turning to local news; religious zealot Nathaniel Williams was arrested today for attempted murder, after he shot police Lieutenant Carter Blake and then fled the scene of the crime. Lt. Blake and FBI Agent Norman Jayden, who are investigating the case of the Origami Killer, were questioning Williams in his apartment when the man drew a gun and shot the Lieutenant. He then escaped from the building while Agent Jayden performed life-saving CPR on Lt. Blake until paramedics arrived. Police later found and arrested Williams in nearby Cedar Park; he is currently in police custody. Lt. Blake remains in the hospital in stable but serious condition."_

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**Thursday, October 6th, 2011, 8:12am**

Norman felt the warm, wet blood wash over his face and he reached up and wiped it off with his hand. But still the blood continued to run down his mouth and nose. He swiped his hand over his face again, wondering where all the blood was coming from, when he suddenly opened his eyes and realized he wasn't bleeding. The warm, wet feeling was from Cadence's tongue licking his face. Norman's heart was racing and he took a deep breath, giving the dog a friendly pat on the head. _I was dreaming… Just dreaming_.

Then he realized where he was. "Oh shit, the dog!" Norman sat up with a start. "Damn it, what time is it?" He glanced at his watch. "God damn it, I'm gonna be late!" He kicked off the blanket that was covering his legs and got up off the sofa. Cadence sat on the floor and cocked her head, looking at him curiously. Clearly the Agent had made a new friend. "Okay girl, a quick pee, and then I gotta get outta here."

Norman let the dog outside to do her business and then raced around Blake's kitchen, filling Cadence's dog bowls with some dry kibble and fresh water. Satisfied that the dog's desires were taken care of, Norman then turned to his own needs. He made his way into the bathroom and checked out his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His hair was a matted mess, partly from the mixture of blood and hair gel that had dried in his wavy locks since the incident yesterday and partly from his awkward sleeping arrangements on hospital chairs and Blake's sofa. _Damn, I was really hoping to duck in to the precinct without wasting anymore time._ Norman noticed the crust of drool that was dried in the corners of his mouth and down his chin and the dark circles forming underneath his eyes. "Christ, I look like shit!"

Curious, Norman grabbed a hold of the armpit of his shirt and lifted it to his nose. He immediately made a face and squinched up his eyes and mouth, pulling his face away. "Oh God, I stink!" There was no way he could head into the station looking _and _smelling like a hobo. Shrugging his arms out of his suit jacket, Norman undid his tie and dress shirt and tossed the whole mess onto the bathroom floor. As he undid the fly of his slacks, he caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had never been a vain or narcissistic individual, but Norman couldn't help but feel a little proud of the lean, muscular body that was hidden underneath his clothes.

His skin was extraordinarily pale; it wasn't like he did much in the way of outdoor activities. The majority of his time was either spent in his office using the ARI to sift through clues, or sitting behind a computer at home playing his nerdy online MMO computer game World of Warcraft. Besides it wasn't like he had seen the sun yet in his trip to rainy Philadelphia, but Norman was far from a scrawny nerd. He was lucky that he found it so easy to build and maintain muscle mass, even from just a handful of visits to the gym each month to lift some free weights and go for a quick run on the treadmill.

Dropping his trousers on the floor, he quickly skimmed his hand under the waistband of his underwear. He preferred low-rise trunks. Not quite a brief but not quite boxers, they were the most comfortable pair of underwear Norman had ever worn. It kept his boys intact but didn't have long boxer style legs that would bunch up underneath his pants. As he pulled off his underwear and then followed with his socks, Norman recalled the black boxer briefs that he had seen Carter wearing yesterday when Norman had taken off the Detective's belt to fashion the tourniquet. He felt himself stiffen a little as he remembered the delightful dark hair running down Carter's chest, past his belly button and below the waistband of his pants.

Shaking his head, Norman tried to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. _Stop it Norman! Just get your fuckin' act together!_ He reached into the shower and turned on the faucet full blast, pulled back the shower curtain and climbed inside. Immediately he could feel his muscles relax as the hot water began to pound down upon his body. He spent a full five minutes just standing and letting the steaming water pelt down on his skin, feeling the tension of the previous day begin to melt away. Norman closed his eyes, sinking into the calm, tranquil feeling of the cascading water. But no matter how hard he tried to put it out of his mind, his thoughts kept going back to Carter lying on the floor, his coat and shirt thrown open, his bare chest exposed.

_Why am I still thinking about him? _Norman opened his eyes and grabbed the bar of soap that was sitting in the recessed soap holder. It was a fairly fresh block of thick, green Irish Spring and Norman held it up to his nose and took a long, deep inhale. The crisp, masculine scent filled his nasal passages and Norman recognized the smell from being in such close proximity to Carter the past two days. The soap smell had even been identifiable underneath the Lieutenant's cologne. _What else would I have expected Blake to use? Typical rugged bachelor. _

Norman's photographic memory and bloodhound sniffing abilities came in handy for much of his FBI profiler work. He wasn't even aware most of the time that he was doing it. Whenever he would meet people he would begin to catalogue everything about them; what they said, how they were dressed, how they talked, what they ate, what they smelled like, what their body language was, how they walked. It all happened on such a subconscious basis unless he was actively working on a case, and then he was much more purposeful about it.

Norman had been doing it to Carter from the very first moment he met him out on the rainy Wasteland. From the little wink and douchey finger-gun action Blake had given him, to Blake's violent outburst in the briefing room at the precinct, to the heady scent of both the Detective's cologne and pheromones he gave off in such close quarters in the car while sitting outside Nathaniel's apartment. Norman had been subconsciously profiling the lieutenant and creating a collective mental file on the man.

As he began to lather up the soap and wash his arms and chest, Norman instantly recalled a snippet he had read on Wikipedia about various Irish Spring slogans and one immediately popped into his head, "Smell like you're worth exploring." A slight grin crossed his face as he thought of the Detective's muscular bare chest. _I wouldn't mind exploring that. _ Closing his eyes, Norman pictured Carter lying on the floor of Nathaniel's apartment again. He felt his penis swell and harden at the mental image of the older man's chiselled pectoral muscles and the dark pelt of hair that covered his chest.

Norman rubbed the wet soap down his flat stomach, his hand grazing the tip of his shaft. He remembered the sensation of placing his lips to Carter's to give him mouth-to-mouth, his tongue accidentally making contact with the cop's own warm, wet tongue. Blake's thick goatee had prickled against his lips and Norman wondered what the man's facial hair would feel like tickling against his genitals. His penis bobbed and twitched violently at the thought of Carter's lips wrapped around him, and Norman let out a loud gasp. He looked down and saw he was rock-hard, a gleaming bead of pre-cum threatening to spill from his slit. The aching sensation in his testicles was almost bordering on painful and Norman couldn't believe the intense pressure that had quickly built up in his abdomen. His skin felt alive, hyper sensitive with the water hammering down on him, and a buzzing noise began to fill his brain. It was beginning to feel better than any rush that Tripto had ever given him and he was amazed, since he thought his libido had died many years ago.

The Agent had been sexually active with a handful of women when he was in University, but he had never held down a steady girlfriend; his studies had always come first. Then when he was accepted into the FBI fresh from graduation, he became married to his job. He had no time for women or dating and his right hand and Internet porn had become his fastest method for sexual release. Whatever was most efficient and practical was always Norman's motto. After he got accepted into the ARI program and began to rely on Tripto to moderate his ARI usage, was when Norman discovered even his minimal sex drive had dwindled down to be essentially non-existent.

Sure he would notice when a cute girl would walk down the street, but let's face it, with the long, cold winters in DC, it's not like women were flocking around half-naked in bikinis. Norman simply found he no longer had any kind of sexual response to women, men, or porn. It didn't matter what he looked at, he had resigned himself to simply being asexual for the time being. He never really worried or thought too much about it, and was actually quite relieved to not be a slave to his penis and sexual whims like most other men. He had been free to focus 110% on his career instead of having to cater to `little Norman' on a daily basis.

So he was shocked when his body had betrayed him yesterday, responding with vivid arousal when he had witnessed Carter exposed and vulnerable before him while he gave the man life-saving CPR and mouth to mouth resuscitation. And now in the shower, as he remembered the Detective's hard, rugged, masculine body, Norman felt a moan escape his mouth. His excitement pulsed through his throbbing organ and Norman couldn't help himself as he foamed up the soap into a frothy lather. Tentatively he took a hold of his shaft with one hand and gave it a quick tug. Norman felt like a 14 year-old boy discovering the sensation of masturbating for the first time. He couldn't believe how good it felt and how much he had been missing all these years.

Norman closed his eyes, picturing himself running his mouth down Carter's neck, using his tongue to trace slow circles around the man's taut nipples. He tugged harder on his member, the soapy lather creating a pleasant, slippery sensation. Norman imagined himself nipping gently at the Detective's firm muscles, his mouth working its way lower across the man's abdomen, all the while Norman's hand began to move faster. He worked his fingers up and down his shaft, palming his length in an upward motion and then flipping his hand around, coming up and over the velvety smooth head and then circling his hand back down the other side. He shifted his wrist and continued the back and forth motion, enjoying the feel of the pressure building up in his scrotum.

He saw himself trail soft, light kisses down Carter's stomach, allowing his warm, wet tongue to dart out and lick a path across the man's navel and through the black, pubic hair sticking out from underneath the waistband of his underwear. Norman leaned his left hand against the shower wall, bracing the full weight of his body on his arm. He tipped his head forward, letting the hot water stream down over his head and back, as he continued to jerk himself harder with his right hand.

The Agent imagined unzipping Carter's slacks, slowly pulling them down the man's legs. He felt his own penis tighten and twitch in his hand as he saw the enormous bulge in Carter's briefs. Norman's mouth watered at the thought of what he was about to reveal. Breathing heavily, he continued to lick his way lower, his hand reaching inside Blake's underwear. He cupped his hand around the Detective's penis, struggling to make his fingers wrap completely around the massive, erect organ.

Startled, Norman suddenly felt Blake's shaft pulse rapidly in his hand and he heard a loud groan. His eyes flicked open and he heard another groan before he realized the sounds were coming from him. His hand was yanking violently on his own erection and a wave of pleasure began to flow up from the depths of his belly. Norman looked down and saw his thick, creamy cum spurt all over the shower wall as his body convulsed with the most delicious sensation. He couldn't believe how big a load he had blown, but seeing as he hadn't had sexual release in years he shouldn't have been surprised.

But the pleasant feeling didn't last long. Norman was immediately repulsed and he felt a wave of disgust and shame replace the blissful sensation he had just experienced. Aiming the showerhead, Norman cleaned off the shower wall and then also rinsed the warm, viscous semen that still clung to his abdomen. He quickly washed off his now shrinking member, being careful not to arouse himself again. His body was spent and weak but he didn't want to dilly dally any longer than necessary in the shower, so he rapidly went through the motions of washing the rest of his body and his hair.

When he was finished, Norman turned off the shower and grabbed a fluffy, white towel from a nearby towel rack. As he stepped out of the shower, his thoughts turned back to Carter, but just as quickly he forced himself to suppress the feelings that had been dormant for so long. Not able to fully articulate if it was disgust at fantasizing about Carter or about sex and masturbating in general, Norman thought it was best if he just pushed the whole matter as far away from the forefront of his mind as possible.

"Get it together Norman!" he scolded himself, as he ran the towel over his wet hair. He half-assed drying his hair and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He looked around the bathroom and noticed a second closed door. Norman assumed it was the en suite that led into Blake's master bedroom. _No fuckin' way._ He needed to find something to wear since there was no way he could show up at the precinct in his own smelly and bloody clothes, but after the experience he just had in the shower, Norman had no desire to breech the sanctity of Carter's bedroom.

_What the hell am I gonna wear?_ He looked around the bathroom and noticed a hook on the back of one of the doors. On it hung a pair of Blake's pants and a white dress shirt. He walked over and took down the clothes, giving them a perfunctory whiff. They had definitely been worn before and Norman could smell the man's cologne intermingled with slight undertones of Carter's musky body odour. Not an unpleasant smell and Norman felt himself stiffen in response, his penis pressing up against the tightly wrapped towel. _Fuck! _ He took a deep cleansing breath, in through his nostrils and then forced the air slowly out of his clenched lips. _Stop…. Thinking…. About….. Him…. Like… that_!

Norman decided to recycle another use out of his underwear and socks while he got dressed in Carter's clothing. Although the OCD side of him would have preferred to go commando than wear the same underwear two days in a row, Norman cringed at the idea of being naked against the fabric of Blake's clothes.

Quickly Norman finished getting dressed and realized that Carter's pants were an inch or two too short and the shirt gaped tremendously in the shoulders and across the chest. Norman sighed. _Beggars can't be choosers_. Luckily the two men were the same waist size and the pants fit perfectly around his midsection. Attempting to look halfway decent, Norman tied his own tie around his neck and fiddled with his still damp hair. Still not satisfied with how his hair looked, after a non-productive hunt for hair gel amongst Blake's bathroom cabinets, Norman gave up and realized he had to get going or he was going to be even more late than he already was.

Leaving the rest of his clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, Norman raced out to the kitchen to grab his coat, checking to make sure his ARI glasses and glove were still secure in the pocket. He gave Cadence a quick pat on the head. She had taken up a comfortable position on the living room sofa and let out a soft woof of acknowledgement. Norman then scooped up Blake's house key and the key to the Caprice, while leaving the rest of Blake's belongings in the Ziploc bag on the kitchen island where he had dropped them the night before. He locked up the house and stepped outside to call a cab from his cell phone. The wait for the taxi gave Norman plenty of time to think and he couldn't keep his mind from wandering. _How had Carter created this sexual awakening in him? And why, of all fucking times, now?_

* * *

**_A/N - _**Wow, so there you have it. I'm actually still quite busy with work, but I do have this long Easter weekend off, so I spent much of tonight writing this chapter. I'm not sure where this scene came from because this wasn't what I had planned to write about tonight at all or even in this scene when I had planned out how my story was going to unfold. There is something truely magical about writing when you just start typing and hours later you get to the end and wonder where on earth the ideas came from! I know I should do another re-read and edit of this chapter, but it's almost 1am and I really just want to post it for you all to read. I'm excited to get some feedback, since it's my first (public) sexual scene. But there is plenty more to come as I continue this story. I'm certainly having fun exploring Norman's character (just wait until I get to Blake!) and I hope you all enjoyed it.

**Cave canem**meansBeware of dog


	5. de gustibus non est disputandum

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)

**A/N** - Thank you again to everyone for your reviews. I'm sorry I kept you all waiting so long for this chapter. Work had me so busy lately and then I had a bit of writer's block. But when I saw OnlySnakesCanLove had posted an update to her story the other day, I made it my motivation to finish this chapter before I would let myself read her new chapter. And damn, I can't wait to read her latest instalment to "Uploaded". So as soon as I post this, I'm off to read it. And to anyone who isn't reading her story "Uploaded", what the hell are you waiting for? Go do it now! (But after you read my chapter first.. lol)

I think there might be some OOC moments in this chapter with some of the dialogue, but I really just wanted to get this chapter posted so I could move on to the rest of the story. I also have been exploring some POV changes, as I'm trying to move into writing this story both from Norman and from Blake's point of views, so we'll see how that works. My apologies for any glaring grammatical issues with that.

Oh and an aside about the smut scene I wrote in the previous chapter. For clarity: it wasn't the first sex scene I ever wrote. I've written many a smutty sex scene back in the day for all my friends in High School and University, but this was my first published one I've shared with the world!

Bonus: This chapter explores some parts of Blake's background!

Rated M for swearing, masturbation and sexual activities between men.

Enjoy and please leave a review!

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**Thursday, October 6th, 2011**

Agent Jayden found himself tied up in events beyond his control for much of the day. After getting picked up by the cab he got dropped off at Nathaniel's apartment and took possession of Blake's police-issue vehicle. Norman's own car was still parked at the precinct where he had left it the morning he and Carter had set out to question Nathaniel, but he decided it was only proper protocol to return Blake's car before he picked up his own wheels. Norman was tempted to stop by his motel room to secure some more Tripto from his stash and to change into his own more comfortable clothing, but he knew he risked another verbal chewing out from Captain Perry if he was any more late in getting to the station.

Norman's arrival at the precinct was met with a tongue lashing from Perry, just as he had suspected, not to mention some gentle good-natured ribbing at his unseemly choice of attire. It seemed like he was not making a good impression as a fashion plate, after coming in the previous morning covered in mud from his spills down the muddy hill at the Wasteland. But Jayden was there to get the job done, not to worry about what he looked like. Except his hair… he was always concerned about his hair!

The morning was spent in the debriefing room with Perry and Ash, as they went over the previous day's events that had led to Carter being shot. Perry was nonplussed at Norman's inaction during the standoff with Nathaniel and the Agent had no recourse or explanation to offer. How on earth could he ever explain to the Captain that while Blake had been staring down the barrel of crazy Nathaniel's M1911, he had been staring into the dark abyss of Tripto withdrawal. Norman's personal battle with his own internal demons had almost cost Carter his life, and according to the update Perry had received from the hospital that morning, the Lieutenant's survival was still not guaranteed. The two gunshot wounds Blake had suffered were severe and the doctors were monitoring him around the clock to ensure there were no complications from yesterday's surgery. The hospital would keep Captain Perry updated.

Against Perry's better judgement, he allowed Norman to remain on the Origami Killer case. Like he really had the authority to pull him off anyway; Jayden was part of the Fed's jurisdiction, but Perry could have filed a complaint with the FBI requesting the Agent be yanked. He just didn't want to have to deal with a new headache from Washington and so he decided to give Norman another chance. Perry partnered Jayden up with Ash and sent them off to continue with the investigation. The Captain also gave Norman his gun back, after Sergeant Perez had turned it in to ballistics and it came up clean. Perry warned Jayden, he better remember how to use the weapon properly the next time.

Spending the day with Ash on the case wasn't Norman's idea of the best use of his time. The Agent clearly felt he worked better on his own, but these were Perry's orders and Norman had orders from his own Director to follow the lead of the local police when working the case and to try not to step on too many toes. So Norman tagged along with Ash while they paid a visit to the psychiatrist of one of their lead suspects.

Norman didn't particularly enjoy working with Ash, but he didn't hate the mild-mannered detective either. Ash was a nice enough guy, but Jayden found him to be rather like tofu: bland, tasteless, with no real personality of his own. As much as Norman thought he hated working with Blake, he realized he missed the fiery spirit of the dark-haired Lieutenant, That visceral hatred that spewed forth, that rage that showed a passion burned deep within the Detective. Maybe it was anger, but Norman believed there was a passion for something more hidden below. Something that got Norman himself riled up… made him feel alive, more than Tripto had ever done for him. And he couldn't deny how just being in such close proximity to Blake made him feel all hot under the collar. Why did his body respond to Blake in this manner? Jayden had never been with another man but realized sexuality could be a very fluid thing. And as he thought more about his session in the shower that morning, he realized that it wasn't so much shame from masturbating to the image of another man, as it was about trying to understand why Carter specifically had flipped a switch inside his brain?

At first he had feared that he had made a mistake by not going back to his motel room in the morning to snag a vial of Tripto, but he actually hadn't been feeling any withdrawal symptoms from either the drug or the ARI. He couldn't deny how relaxed he felt since he had masturbated earlier that morning. Was it really so simple? Was sexual release the answer to all his physical and psychological symptoms?

**Thursday, October 6th, 2011, 7:30pm**

After a long day of working the case with Ash, the two men finally decided to call it quits for the evening. Norman was desperate to get back to his motel room, change into his own clothes, snort back some of his magical blue powder and get some much-needed rest in a comfortable bed. However, he still had one more stop to make before his guilty conscience was assuaged.

Jayden hadn't had an opportunity to use the ARI all day so luckily he hadn't experienced any ocular bleeding from overuse, but he could feel a blistering headache bubbling up behind his eyes and his intestines were grumbling in protest. The Agent was truly astonished that the withdrawal symptoms had been delayed by such a long period of time. It had been almost twenty-four hours since he last took the drug and his past history had him using three or four times a day.

It wasn't that Norman didn't want to use the ARI to assist him in investigating the case, but he was very hesitant to put the glasses back on again. He couldn't shake the remorse from his mind, that it was his lack of responsibility, his inaction that allowed the shooting incident to have occurred. All because he had frozen while walking the edge of that finely honed knife; stuck in between managing withdrawal symptoms from the Tripto and trying to keep a firm handle on the ARI side-effects. Norman wondered if Blake getting shot was the manifestation of him finally falling off that knife and losing complete control.

Back behind the wheel of his own government issued sedan, Jayden headed to the hospital. He needed to check on Carter and finally see the Detective with his own two eyes to make sure the man was really still alive. Parking his vehicle and walking to front desk, Jayden asked for Blake's room number, but was met with an angry looking administrator who informed him that Lt. Blake was in the ICU and could not have any visitors. Norman flashed his FBI badge and enlightened her that he was on official Government business. He loved abusing the little perks of his job and the woman pointed him in the right direction, but not without first grumbling about no-good Gov't bureaucrats. Norman smirked; it seemed that the woman had taken a page straight out of the official Carter Blake operating manual.

Following the woman's directions, Jayden made his way to the ICU and ran into Dr. Kardish. "Do you ever go home?" Norman good-naturedly asked the Dr.

Dr. Kardish chuckled, "I got off at seven this morning, went home and had a nap. Now I'm back on for another sixteen hour shift."

Norman made a face; he thought his job was bad.

"I assume you're here checking up on your partner?" the Dr. asked

"My what?" Norman choked. _Sweet Jesus, does he think we're…. a couple?_ Instantly his mind flooded with all the sexual imagery he had fantasized about in the shower earlier that day.

"Lt. Blake?" said Dr. Kardish. "You're here to see how he's doing?"

Norman regained composure, immediately realizing the Dr. was talking about them being work colleagues, police partners. "Yes," he said, feeling his face flush bright red at how ridiculous he was being_. Why is every little innuendo making me think about Carter?_

"He actually woke up a few hours ago," said the Dr., gesturing for Norman to follow him, as he began to walk down the hospital corridor. "For the seriousness of his injuries we actually expected him to be unconscious for a much longer period of time after his surgery. But the man has the resilience of a cockroach. He's still a bit groggy but he was giving us a hard time,trying to pull out his IV's and other lines. We had to restrain him so he would settle down."

Norman rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure he was thrilled with that," he said sarcastically.

"Most patients don't enjoy being restrained, but it's for his own good. He even tried to get out of bed at one point, but we can't even begin to entertain that until we can move him into a step-down unit," explained the Dr.

"And when would he be ready to move out of ICU?" Norman asked?

"Not until we remove his chest tube," Dr. Kardish explained. "But that won't be for a couple more days. We need to be sure all the fluid is drained from his lungs first."

The Dr. stopped walking and paused in front of an open room door. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him?"

Jayden let out a loud snort. "Ha!" he exclaimed. "That man is as stubborn as a bull and just as determined."

The Dr. sighed. "Well, Lt. Blake suffered some serious injuries and although I take pride in my skills as a surgeon, I do know it's going to take plenty of time before he can make a full recovery. But perhaps his stubbornness will serve him well. A positive attitude can make all the difference in the world for the patient's healing process."

"I wouldn't exactly call him positive," said Norman. "But he does usually make sure he gets whatever he wants."

"Every little bit helps," replied the Dr. He motioned toward the doorway. "Feel free to stay as long as you like, but try not to tax him too much with police work. He actually might be suffering from some temporary memory loss as a result of his trauma, but it shouldn't be anything too serious. I'd like him to focus on getting better, not trying to solve a murder case. I have other patients I need to check in on, but if you or Lt. Blake need anything just ring one of the nurses and they'll be happy to help you." Dr. Kardish walked off down the hallway, leaving Norman lingering outside the room, wondering what he was going to walk into.

Taking a deep breath, the Agent conjured up his courage and entered Blake's hospital room. It was a private room with a large exterior window overlooking the hospital courtyard. The room also had a large glass interior window inset on the right hand wall. Blake's bed was against the left hand wall with the footboard facing the interior window. The nurse's station was on the other side of the glass window, so they could easily keep an eye on the patient without having to leave their monitoring station.

Jayden walked into the room and saw Carter lying in the hospital bed. The Lieutenant's eyes were closed and his face seemed ghostly pale against the stark white pillow and sheets. An IV ran from his right arm to an IV stand on which hung two bags of saline. A shunt hung from the middle of the IV line for the nurses to administer morphine and other medication when necessary. Norman saw that Blake was topless underneath the sheets. The top blanket was pulled up just to below the Detective's pecs. He observed Blake's chest, his light brown, almost pink, nipples, slightly erect from the cool air in the hospital room, the thick dark hair covering his chest, and his tattoo proudly displayed on his right pec. The delicious sight made Jayden's mouth begin to water. _Those nipples are just so damn … lickable_! To see Carter so still and vulnerable again, just like when he was lying on the floor of Nathaniel's apartment, brought a plethora of feelings flooding back for Norman.

Blake's left arm was strapped across his chest in a sling and his right arm was strapped down to the bed with a restraint. And as Dr. Kardish had explained, Carter also had a chest tube exiting the left side of his abdomen, to keep his lung inflated for the time being. Instantly, all feelings of sexual arousal left Norman's body as he saw the seriousness of the injuries the cop had sustained, due to his own irresponsibility.

Careful not to wake up the Detective, Jayden slowly crossed the room and sat down in a chair by the side of Blake's bed. He didn't say a word, instead just watching the Lieutenant's chest rise and fall with each breath. Norman was taking it all in… the machines that were hooked up to Blake, beeping and monitoring his heart rate and other vital signs, the various liquids draining from the chest tube into a bottle at the side of the bed, the bandaged side of Carter's abdomen, his injured arm. …. Norman felt a bubble of remorse well up inside him and he knew this was all his fault. He let out a quiet sob and held his face in his hands, but he could hardly hold back the torrent of pain that quickly surged up.

The sound of Jayden's quiet weeping caused Blake to open his eyes. He saw Norman sitting in the chair by the side of his bed and wondered how long he had been sitting there.

"Fucking pussy," Blake began for an opening salvo. "What the fuck do you got to cry about?"

"Cartah?" said Norman. "Are you okay?" Norman sat up in his chair, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Am I okay?" repeated Blake. "What the fuck do you think? I was shot two times by a raving lunatic, and you just stood there with your head in the fuckin' clouds."

Norman hung his head. "I know, I know, I'm sowwy," he said.

Carter just stared incredulously at Jayden. "You're saw-wee?" he said, making fun of the Agent's annoying accent. "Seriously? Is that all you can say? You almost got me fucking killed!"

Norman didn't know what to say and started to stutter and stammer some kind of explanation, but the gibberish that left his mouth could hardly be considered English or intelligible. He looked down at his feet and scuffed his shoe against the tile floor, his body language taking on the appearance of a little boy being scolded by a schoolteacher. He knew he had done something wrong and had no good explanation for it.

"You god-damned cocky little FBI agent… coming here to MY precinct, taking over MY case, making ME look like a fucking incompetent fool, "Blake continued his vicious diatribe, not allowing Jayden to get a word in edgewise. "Then you get me fucking shot, cause you're too much of a pussy to shoot your fucking gun." Carter shook his head in disbelief, the anger and hostility painted as plain as day across his face. His eyes and mouth contorted in rage as he continued to spit out obscenities at the meek bureaucrat, whose head was hanging so low from the verbal abuse that he was practically prostrating before the Detective.

Blake pulled against the restraint on his good arm, practically bucking against the bed, in attempts to make some kind of violent, physical contact with Norman. "God damn it! Would you undo this fucking restraint? They're treating me like some common criminal!" Blake demanded.

Jayden's eyes widened with fear. He didn't want to get anywhere near the man's hands, for fear the Lieutenant's fist might make contact with his face. "Um, I don't know if that's such a good idea," stammered Norman.

"You fucking assho….." But before Carter could finish his curse, his facial expression changed and the corners of his lips curled up in a grin and then his entire mouth opened up into a wide-toothed laugh. "Oh my God, what the fuck are you wearing?" Blake guffawed as he let out a huge burst of laughter.

Confused, Norman lifted his head, taking a look at Carter and then giving his outfit a scrutinizing glance. Blake continued to laugh, until the heaving ripples of laughter moving through his body caused a sharp pain in his chest wound, and he suddenly bent over at the waist and gasped for breath.

Jayden stood up and rushed over to the bed, putting his hand on Blake's shoulder, "Are you okay, Cartah?" he asked, concerned the man had hurt himself. The instant his hand touched Carter's flesh, he felt as if a hot poker had seared the palm of his hand. Like being struck by lightning, Norman felt a sizzle of electricity move from the detective's skin, through his hand, up his arm and straight down to his groin, which fluttered in response.

"I'm fine, get the fuck off me," Carter spewed at him, shrugging his shoulders to remove himself from Jayden's touch. Norman immediately removed his hand, more so from the intensity of the feeling and less from Carter's barking command. He took a step back from the bed, his heart pounding and his head spinning at how quickly his body had reacted to just the mere touch of Carter's bare flesh.

"Those clothes, where did you get those? It looks like you're trying to play dress up?" Blake asked, snapping Norman from his reverie. The Agent knew the clothes were ill fitting. He looked down, taking in the short pants and the baggy shirt. "Wait a minute," said Blake, before Norman could explain. He squinted his eyes taking another good look at Jayden standing before him. "Those are my clothes? Why are you wearing my fucking clothes?" The anger began to rise in Blake's voice again.

"I uh," stammered Norman, "I waited at the hospital until you were out of surgery, but uh." Jayden felt a blush come over his pale cheeks, as he tried to come up with a good reason why he went to Carter's house last night, other than his own perverse curiosity. "The Dr. gave me your belongings and I uh… I wanted to make sure they were safe, so I um, uh… I had your keys, and…. Um…. I dropped them off at your house." Norman's face was flaming scarlet red now as he remembered his shower from earlier that morning. _How on earth am I going to explain that I spent the night at his house? _

Blake glared at Jayden, not impressed by the pathetic story the Agent was attempting to string together. Suddenly Norman looked up excitedly, "I fed your dog!" he announced, thinking Carter would be happy someone had looked after the animal.

At Norman's sudden announcement, Carter's entire demeanour changed, his face relaxed and his tone softened. His blue eyes lit up and a smile came over his face. "Cadence!" Blake exclaimed. "Oh my god, I forgot all about her. Is she okay?"

"She's fine," said Jayden. "I fed her and let her out to do her business. How old is she anyway? She seems a little worse for wear?" he asked.

Not being one to share a lot of personal details with co-workers, and especially not with this fuck-nugget FBI agent, Blake thought carefully before he chose his words. Cadence was his partner, his confident, his whole world. He had been paired up with the two-year-old German shepherd, eight years ago, when he was first accepted into the K9 unit. Once they had completed their training, the two worked for the city police Narcotics division providing drug sniffing at crime scenes, police roadside checks, the airport and even drug sweeps at local schools. Carter and Cadence, or C&C as they were known around the precinct, became an inseparable, unstoppable team.

Being a K9 handler, Carter was responsible for Cadence 24/7 and it didn't take long for a loving bond to grow between them. A bond that meant either one of them would put their life on the line for the other. And that's exactly what Cadence did for Carter. Four years ago, during a routine police roadside check, Blake was walking the dog up the line of vehicles that was stopped, while another officer spoke to each driver as they slowly inched their way to the front of the line. Cadence sniffed out a stash of cocaine in one vehicle and after she alerted Carter and he began to make his way over to the car, the driver got spooked by the dog and pulled out a gun. Blake moved to pull out his own piece while he shouted a warning for the guy to put down his gun. But the driver, who, they later found out, was high on crystal meth, was even quicker to aim his gun at Carter. Cadence turned out to be the quickest of them all, and she jumped and tackled Blake just as the driver fired his weapon, putting herself between her handler and the danger. Cadence took the bullet straight through her left hind leg, but she had saved Carter's life. By the time the dog and the officer had hit the ground, the other police on the scene had stepped in, disarmed and apprehended the shooter.

Carter was fine, aside for some bruising where the dog had landed on his chest, but the same couldn't be said for Cadence. Even after surgery and antibiotics, she was never the same. She had developed a limp after her leg had healed and with such a lack of mobility she was declared unfit for active duty. Carter decided to keep Cadence as a pet after she was retired from the police force, and he immediately quit the K9 unit, choosing instead to enter Homicide.

"She's almost ten years old, but she's been through a lot," explained Carter. "She used to be in the K9 unit."

"No kidding," said Norman. "Was she yours?" Jayden found it extremely difficult to imagine Blake being a K9 handler. He knew that only the most dedicated officers were considered for K-9 units. They had to have exemplary records, plenty of arrests with convictions, an outgoing, energetic personality, and strong physical conditioning. Norman couldn't argue that Blake certainly had the physical conditioning; the man was built like a brick shit-house. But as for the other criteria? It was doubtful at best.

"Yeah," said Blake, "About eight years ago I got accepted into the K9 unit. Cadence was my first partner… well… uh…" he stammered. "My only partner really. We worked Narcotics."

Norman let out a snicker. "Ha! You were a NARC?"

Blake just glared at him but didn't respond. "She got shot in the line of duty and had to be retired. I couldn't bare to see her be put down, so I got to keep her."

"But you're in Homicide. What happened?" asked Jayden, curious about why Blake had switched career paths.

"I quit K9. I couldn't do it without Cadence. She… uh…." Blake stopped, a lump gathering in his throat. Norman could see a slight dampness gathering in the corners of the man's eyes. "I couldn't stand to raise another dog, ... to get…..." Carter trailed off.

"…. to get that close again," Norman finished Carter's sentence quietly under his breath.

_Wow. Blake actually does have a softer side._ It was clear to Jayden's profiler instinct that Blake shared a special relationship with Cadence. He could tell how close the Detective was with the dog and he wondered what had happened that she got shot. But the Agent knew better than to keep probing for information. He was just thankful that with the attention turned to Cadence, Blake seemed to have forgotten about his original question as to why Jayden was wearing the Lieutenant's clothes.

"Her spirit was broken and she's never been the same. She can't run and play like she used to," Blake continued.

Norman glanced at the older man and saw the tenderness in his eyes, surprised at the vulnerability that Carter was showing. But he knew that shouldn't have lasted for long, as the Detective interrupted Norman's thoughts with another angry outburst. "How the fuck did you even get close to Cadence?" Blake asked. "I mean, she is a loveable animal but only around people she knows and trusts."

"I had stopped at Mickey Dee's on my way over to your house," Jayden explained. "I had a Big Mac and it seemed to subdue her."

Blake laughed, again his gruff exterior melting away at the thought of his dog. "Oh my God, I used to give her a Big Mac once a week as a treat. I knew it wasn't good for her, but she worked so damn hard. She had such a weakness for those burgers." He smiled and then looked down. "She and I both," he continued.

Jayden glanced over at Blake's form lying underneath the white hospital sheets, the man's stomach flat as a board. "Oh yeah, looks like you have a serious junk food problem," he joked, remembering the sight of the Lieutenant's naked chest in Nathaniel's apartment when he gave him CPR the day before. "You could wash laundry on your abs." _Oh shit, did I just say that out loud?_

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Blake burst out angrily. "You are such a fag!"

Norman averted his eyes from Carter's body and took a step away from the bed, mentally wishing to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. "I am not a …. fag." said Norman, having difficulty even saying the crass sounding word.

"Denial ain't just a river in Egypt," cracked Blake.

Jayden chuckled sarcastically, "Ha ha, very funny," he responded. "I told you, I'm not a fag!" he said a little more harshly.

"You sure fooled me, you cock-sucking queer," sneered Carter, the venom in his words stinging the Agent's pride just a little bit. "I know you were all over me, the Doc told me you gave me CPR. Ripped my clothes off and couldn't wait to get your lips on mine. Fucking homo!" Blake took a big inhale and then actually spat a ball of phlegm in Norman's general direction, just barley missing the man's pant leg.

Disgusted at the Detective's vile behaviour, Jayden began to walk towards the door. "I saved your fucking life Blake!" he shouted.

"But it was your fault I was fucking shot in the first place!" Blake yelled back at the Agent. But Jayden didn't intend to stick around any longer to argue with the man and he was already out of the room and down the hallway.

"Fucking asshole!" Carter screamed after him, remnants of spit flying from his mouth into the air. His heart was racing and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He knew his blood pressure was up and instantly one of his monitors began to sound an alarm. Within seconds a nurse raced into the room. "Mr. Blake!" she reprimanded him as she silenced the monitor. "You're going to have to calm down." She pulled her stethoscope from around her neck and placed the cool chest piece to Carter's chest to listen to his heart.

Blake growled deep in his throat. "Don't tell me to calm down," he hissed as politely as he knew how. "And while you're at it, get me out of these fucking restraints!"

**Thursday, October 6th, 2011, 10:48pm**

Jayden set on the edge of the bed in his motel room, holding his head in his hands. After the hysterical blow-up with Blake he had fled the hospital, making a quick stop in on Cadence to feed and water the animal. Even if the two men didn't see eye-to-eye, Norman wasn't going to let the dog starve to death.

But now, here he sat, going over the events of the past two days in his head. And despite the painful headache that had come on slowly over the course of the day, like his head was being clamped in a vise, squeezing ever more tightly as each hour had passed while he worked the case with Ash, the Agent had had no other Tripto or ARI related withdrawal symptoms. Then, miraculously, the headache had disappeared after his visit to Blake in the hospital.

Norman picked up a small blue vial that was sitting on the nearby nightstand and rolled the cool glass tube around in his fingers. He felt no addictive urges to take the powerful drug, when normally just the sight of the blue powder was enough to make him snort back a noseful. Had it really been more than a day since he had last had a hit?

Setting the vial back on the nightstand, he lay down on his back on the bed, still dressed in Blake's ill-fitting clothes. Was it the jerking off in the shower that had subdued his cravings for Tripto? _No, that's ridiculous. _But Norman couldn't deny that anytime he had been around Carter, his body had responded in an uncontrollable way. And every time he walked away, he felt a powerful rush of endorphins and hadn't needed to take a hit of the drug. He couldn't even begin to verbalize how he felt. It disgusted him and pleased him all at the same time. Norman closed his eyes, but all he could picture was Blake lying in the hospital bed, looking weak and vulnerable. His crotch tingled in response and Norman let out a weak moan.

Before Jayden was a trained profiler, he questioned every decision he made, every feeling and emotion that crossed his mind. Even from a very young age, it was what made him get into the study of psychology in the first place. He analyzed to death every date or physical contact he ever had with a girl. 'Why did she say that?' 'What did she mean by that'? 'Why did he do that?' 'Was her lack of emotion a reflection on him'? 'Was he searching for a mother figure?'

In fact, if Norman had paid closer attention he would have realized his overanalysing was probably the reason why all his relationships had failed, rather than from him being so busy studying in University. So now he couldn't help but question why did he had such an overwhelming attraction to Carter - the raging fireball, jam-packed full of testosterone? What did that say about Norman? Was he looking for father figure? Carter was far from fatherly, with all the the arguing and the bickering, but it did make Norman feel alive. Was that what he was looking for?

After so many years of Tripto use, had he burnt out all his old brain synapses and neural pleasure pathways? He was always chasing that last high and he usually needed Tripto just to feel normal. But now here was Carter making him experience feelings he had never felt before; taking him to a height he could remember only from the first time he had tried Tripto.

Jayden shook his head; he had to stop second-guessing everything. He feared he was going to drive himself mad if he continued to keep questioning his reaction to the Detective. _Besides it's not like Carter has any feelings for me. He thinks I'm a fag._

Norman could hear the older man's words echo through his mind again. 'Cock-sucking queer.' He smiled and his penis twitched. A flash of blood soared into his groin as Norman imagined how Carter would enjoy a little cock sucking of his own. Even despite the cruelty and anger that Carter had shown towards the Agent, Jayden couldn't help but imagining himself crawling up into that big hospital bed and licking Blake's soft, brown nipples. Sucking each perfectly, little round disc into his mouth and teasing each nipple into a firm, erect peak with his teeth. Norman's growing erection began to strain against the fabric of his pants and he reached over and undid the zipper and slid his pants off his legs. He tossed the clothes on the floor and got under the bed sheets and closed his eyes again.

He wrapped one hand around his firm member, blood pulsing through the thick veins, causing his erection to bob and weave in his grasp. Again, imagining himself in the hospital bed with Blake, he threw one leg over the man's body so he was straddling the man's lower legs. The Detective started to put up a bit of a struggle but Norman placed one hand over the man's mouth. With his injured left arm subdued in a sling and his right arm done up in the hospital restraints, Blake was completely vulnerable. A big grin came over Norman's face as he realized he could do whatever he wanted to the man and Carter couldn't stop him.

Looking down, Jayden saw that he wasn't wearing any pants. His arousal was demanding attention but then he noticed that Blake had pitched a tent of his own. The white bed sheet was bulging upwards, Carter's own erection bobbing and seeking release. Norman shifted his weight and walked his knees forward a little so that he was no longer sitting on Carter's knees and shins, but rather straddling the man's thighs. He leaned forward and brought his crotch so very close to Blake's erection; the thin hospital sheet was the only thing keeping the two men from touching. Blake groaned something but it was muffled behind Norman's hand. The Agent didn't dare move his hand but then he felt something wet. Carter had begun to gently lick his palm, the rough hairs of his goatee tickling his flesh, feeling almost like the sandpapery tongue of a little kitten.

Norman moaned, imagining the man's wet tongue licking his penis instead of his hand. He shifted his weight carefully again, this time making very slight contact between his groin and Carter's erection through the sheets. He felt the massive bulge and when he looked down, Jayden could practically see the thick, throbbing veins on Carter's member standing out even through the thin hospital sheet. A damp stain appeared on the fabric at the head of Blake's penis, as pre-cum began to leak from the tip. Norman's mouth watered and he licked his lips, he was aching to get his tongue on that beast, not to mention to finally lay eyes on it.

Carter apparently shared Jayden's feelings, as he moved from licking Norman's palm, to taking first the Agent's index finger in his mouth and then his middle finger as well. He slowly moved his tongue up and down Norman's fingers, swirling around his fingertips, slobbering plenty of saliva down over Jayden's fingers and palm. Licking his lips, Blake looked at Jayden, his blue eyes hungry and his chest heaving with deep panting breaths. Norman could barely hold on any longer and he crushed himself against Carter's groin, their two erections grinding together. Norman tilted his hips, rubbing himself hungrily against Carter's penis through the sheet. Grunting in anticipation, he threw his head back and closed his eyes, continuing to grind himself on top of the older man. He felt the pressure building up between his legs and as Carter continued to lick and slurp at his fingers, Norman could only imagine the man's tongue lapping at the head of his penis, his facial hair rubbing briskly over his inner thighs. The visual image was too much and Norman felt himself climax. His face clenched in pleasure from his release and he groaned from the intensity. Panting, Norman felt his abdominal muscles pulse with each contraction and when his orgasm had finally subsided, he opened his eyes. A little bit stunned and surprised, Norman realized he was back in his hotel room. He looked down and saw he was holding his now limp organ in his hand and his stomach was covered in his own semen.

Standing up, Jayden padded over to the bathroom in his bare feet to clean himself off. He washed his stomach and hands, splashed his face with water and then looked at himself in the mirror. Letting out a deep breath, Norman ran his hands through his hair. His face was flushed and he felt a little wave of nausea overtake him briefly, as he realized for the second time in twenty-four hours that he had masturbated to fantasies of Lt. Carter Blake. Shaking off his revulsion, he headed back to the bed. Fluffing up his pillow and laying back down, he couldn't argue with the fact that he now felt more relaxed than ever. And as the sandman quickly took him off to slumber land, Norman couldn't suppress his ear-to-ear grin, as another fantasy about Carter Blake filled his dreams.

* * *

**A/N** - **de gustibus non est disputandum** means "In matters of taste, there is no argument"

I think that's a very fitting title for this chapter and something Norman is clearly struggling with. It's also the story of my life! *snicker*


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